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RECOLLECTIONS 
of a PIONEER 



BY 

J. W. (Watt) GIBSON 



ft? -5 



Press of Nelson-Hanne Printing Co. 

107 South Third Street 

St. Joseph, Mo. 



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FOREWORD. 

The following pages are entirely from memory. I 
kept no notes or other record of the events I have at- 
tempted to relate, but I am sure my memory has not 
often deceived me. My early responsibilities compelled 
me to give close attention to the things v^hich transpired 
about me and thus fixed them permanently in my 
mind. In fact, most of the experiences which I have 
attempted to relate were of such personal consequence 
that I was compelled to be alert and to know what was 
passing. 

I undertook the present task at the solicitation of 
many friends and acquaintances who urged that my 
recollections of a period, now fast passing out of per- 
sonal memory, ought to be preserved. It is probable 
that I have made a good many errors, especially, in 
my attempts to locate places and to give distances, but 
it must be remembered that we had no maps or charts 
with us on the plains and that but few state lines or 
other sub-divisions were in existence. The location of 
the places where events occurred with reference to 
present geographical lines has been my most difficult 
task. 

J. W. (WATT) GIBSON. 

St. Joseph, Mo., August 15, 1912. 



CHAPTER I. 

Early Days in Buchanan County. 

I was born in Bartow County, Georgia, on the 
22nd day of January, 1829. Sometime during my in- 
fancy, and at a period too early to be remembered, my 
father and his family moved to East Tennessee, where 
we lived until I was ten years old. About this time re- 
ports concerning the Platte Purchase and its splendid 
farming land began to reach us. I do not now recall 
the exact channel through which these reports came, 
but I think some of our relatives had gone there and 
had written back urging us to come. My father final- 
ly yielded and in the spring of 1839 sold his Tennessee 
farm and prepared for the long journey overland. I 
was old enough at the time to take some note of what 
passed, and I remember that my father received four 
thousand dollars for his land in Indiana "shin plas- 
ters." I recall also the preparations that were made 
for the journey — the outfitting of the wagons, gathering 
the stock together, and most important of all, the part 
assigned to me. I was provided with a pony, saddle 
and bridle and given charge of a herd of loose cattle 
and horses. We had a rude camp outfit and car- 
ried along with us all the household plunder with which 
we expected to start life in the new country. As may 
be well imagined, there was not a great deal of it, 
although the family was large. In those days the peo- 
ple had to be satisfied with the barest necessities. 
Some idea of the extent of this part of my father's 
worldly property may be given by saying that the 
entire outfit, including camp equipment, was loaded 
into two wagons. 



6 Recollections of a Pioneer 

I shall never forget the morning we started. 
Everything had been loaded the day before, ex- 
cept the articles necessary to the sojourn over night. 
We were up bright and early, had breakfast in little 
better than camp style, and were off before sun up. 
My father, mother, and the younger children took the 
first wagon, and one of my brothers and my sisters the 
second. I was upon my pony and in my glory. The 
wagons moved forward and I rounded up the cattle 
and horses and forced them along after the wagons. 
I was too young to feel any tender sentiment toward 
the old home or to appreciate the fact that I was leav- 
ing it forever, but I remember that my father and 
mother often looked back, and as we passed over the 
hill out of sight, I saw them turn and wave a long 
farewell. Many times since I have thought of that 
scene and have learned to know full well its meaning 
to my father and mother. 

I cannot recall all the particulars of this toilsome 
journey, and if I could, they would hardly interest the 
reader. I remember that I soon lost the enthusiasm 
of that early morning on which we started and grew 
very tired and longed for the end of our journey. 
For a great many days it seemed to me we traveled 
through a rugged mountain country. The hills were 
long and toilsome, the streams had no bridges and 
had to be forded, and I frequently had great difficulty 
in getting my cattle and horses to follow the wagons. 
On such occasions, the caravan would stop and 
the whole family would come to my aid. Of 
course, there were no fences along the sides of the 
road and my stock becoming wearied or tempted by 
the green herbage alongside would wander out into 
the woods and brush and give me much trouble. 



Early Days in Buchanan County 7 

When I think of these difficulties, I do not wonder 
that I became wearied, but as my life was afterwards 
ordered, this boyish experience taught me a lesson 
which many times proved useful. 

I remember when we crossed what they said was 
the line into Kentucky. I could see no difference in 
the mountains, valleys or the rivers, but somehow 
I felt that there ought to be a difference and that Ken- 
tucky could not be like Tennessee, and yet it was. 
Here I learned, thus early in life, what so many 
people find it hard even in later years to appreciate, 
that names and distances do not make differences and 
that all places upon the face of the earth, no matter 
how they vary in physical appearance, are after all 
very much alike. I believe it is the realization of this 
fact that makes the difference between the man who 
knows the world and the one who does not. After 
a long time, as it seemed to me, we passed out of the 
mountains and into a beautiful rolling country improv- 
ed even in that early day with many turnpikes and 
exhibiting every indication of prosperity. There were 
negroes everywhere — many more than we had in Ten- 
nessee, and I remember hearing them singing as they 
worked in the fields. I now know that this country 
was what has since been known as the "Blue Grass 
Region" of Kentucky, though at the time, I thought 
the mountains of my old home a much better place 
to live. 

For a long time, even before the journey began, 
I had heard a great deal about the Ohio River and 
knew that we must cross it, and when the people along 
the road began to tell us that we were nearing that 
stream, I became filled with curiosity to see it and to 
know what it would be like and to see and experi- 



8 Recollections of a Pioneer 

ence the sensation of crossing it on a ferry-boat. Fi- 
nally we came to the top of a long hill and away off 
to the north we saw the river winding through a deep 
valley, and some one, my father, I think, pointed out 
a mere speck on the surface of the water and told us 
it was a ferry-boat. When we reached the bank of 
the river we found the boat tied alongside, and to my 
surprise, horses, wagons and cattle were all driven 
upon it. I had no idea that a ferry-boat was such a 
huge affair. It was run by horse-power, and it 
took us only a few minutes to reach the farther 
shore, and I was disappointed that my trip was not a 
longer one. The landing and unloading took but a 
few minutes. My father paid the man and we started 
immediately to climb the hill on the other side. I 
must not neglect to mention that somewhere on the 
road in the northern part of Kentucky or immediately 
after we crossed the river, my father exchanged the 
"shin plasters" for which he had sold his farm for sil- 
ver, that currency being at par in that locality. He re- 
ceived four thousand silver dollars. I saw them with 
my own eyes. He put them in a strong box and load- 
ed them into one of the wagons along with the other 
luggage. 

I do not remember at what point we crossed the 
Ohio River. I did not, of course, know at the time, and 
if my father or any member of the family ever told me 
the place afterwards I have forgotten it; but the event 
is as vivid in my mind as if it had occurred yesterday. 

There was little in our journey across Indiana 
and Illinois to impress that portion of the road upon 
my memory. All I recall is in a general way that I 
could see no familiar mountains, and over parts of the 
journey I remember that the country appeared to me 
to be monotonously level. I cannot give the length of 



Early Days in Buchanan County 9 

time that was required in making this journey, but 
I do remember when we reached the Mississippi 
River. We crossed at Alton, if I am not mistaken, 
and in place of a horse ferry we had a steam ferry, 
which was to me a much more wonderful contrivance 
than the horse ferry on the Ohio. Then the river was 
so much wider. I remember wondering where all that 
vast body of water could come from. They told us, 
when we landed on the opposite shore, that we were 
in Missouri, and I thought my journey must be nearly 
ended, but I was never more mistaken. Day after day 
our wagons trundled along, night after night we went 
into camp, worn out with the day's journey, only to 
get up again early in the morning and repeat the same 
experience. 

We reached Tremont Township, Buchanan Coun- 
ty, on the 29th day of May, 1839, and straightway set- 
tled upon a tract of land about a mile and a quarter 
southeast of what is now Garrettsburg. A house of 
some character was the first thing to which my father 
turned his attention, and it was not long before a rude 
log cabin was under construction. I was too small 
to take much part in this work, but I remember that 
such neighbors as we had were good to us and came 
and helped. The logs were cut in the woods and drag- 
ged to the site of the house and the neighbors and 
friends came and helped us at the "raising." The 
house consisted of a single room with a wide fireplace 
built of rough stone extending nearly across one en- 
tire end of the room. The roof was of long split boards 
laid upon poles or beams in such a way as to shed the 
water and weighted down by other beams laid on top 
of them. I do not think a single nail or other piece of 
iron entered into the construction of the building, but 
we thought it a great improvement upon the tent life 



10 Recollections of a Pioneer 

we had experienced on our journey, and my father 
was quite proud of his new home. I will not attempt 
to describe that country as it appeared to me in that 
early day. In fact the changes have been so gradual 
that it seems to me to be still very much the same 
country it was when I first saw it, though when I stop 
to reflect, I know that this is not so. Most of it was 
heavy timber. A glade or skirt of prairie passed in now 
and then from the almost continuous prairie of what is 
now Clinton County. And I remember distinctly that 
a stretch of prairie extended from Platte River direct- 
ly across from where Agency is now located in an east 
and south easterly direction toward Gower, and thence 
around to the left where it joined the main body of 
prairie land. There were no fences to speak of, and 
deer were as plentiful as in any country I have ever 
seen. There were few roads and no great need for 
them and no bridges. The county seat of the county 
was at old Sparta, and Robidoux's Landing was the 
most talked of place in the county. 

In 1846, my father built a brick house, the first, 
I think, that was ever erected in the county. It stood 
about a quarter of a mile south of the present resi- 
dence of Thomas Rarton, a respected citizen of Tre- 
mont Township. The brick were made upon the ground 
and I was old enough at that time to have quite an 
important part in the work, and it was hard work, too. 
I helped cut and haul wood with which the brick were 
burned, and I "off bore" the brick as they were mould- 
ed. I carried the brick and mortar as the house was 
being erected and assisted in putting on the roof, lay- 
ing floors and finishing the house. It was quite a 
commodious structure when completed and was con- 
sidered by all our neighbors and friends who still lived 
in their log houses as quite a mansion. 



Early Days in Buchanan County 11 

Our farming operations were not very extensive. 
The land all had to be cleared of heavy timber, and I 
have seen thousands of feet of the finest white oak, 
walnut and hickory burned up in log heaps, but there 
was nothing else to be done with it. We had to have 
the land and there was no use to which we could put 
such a quantity of timber. The few rails that were 
needed to fence the field after it was cleared, required 
only a small portion of the timber that was cut away, 
and as all the land except the fields was allowed to 
remain unfenced, there could be no profit in expend- 
ing time and labor in making rails to be piled up and 
allowed to decay. 

Most of our work was done on the farm with ox 
teams. Our plows were rude, home-made implements, 
and the hoe, axe and sickle, or reaping hook, all home- 
made, were about the only other tools we had. With 
these and with our slow plodding oxen, we thought 
we did very well to produce from our stumpy ground 
enough for the family to subsist on. Even the accom- 
plishment of this small result required the efforts of 
almost every member of the family. My mother and 
sisters frequently worked in the fields, and I often 
saw, in those days, a woman plowing in the field, driv- 
ing a single cow, using a rude harness without a collar. 
We cut our wheat with a sickle and our hemp with a 
hook. We hackled the flax by hand and spun and wove 
it into linen. My mother and sisters sheared the sheep, 
washed and picked the wool, carded, spun and wove 
it into blankets and clothing for the whole family. 
They took the raw material, green flax and wool 
on the sheep's back, and made it into clothing 
for a family of ten. They milked the cows and wash- 
ed the clothing besides, and then found time to help 
in the fields. It must not be thought that the men 



12 Recollections of a Pioneer 

were idle while this was going on. They worked just 
as hard, but their tools were so poor and Jhe diffi- 
culties so great, and they could accomplish so little 
that even with all their efforts they sometimes fell 
behind the women in their tasks. 

As may well be imagined, there was little time 
for a boy or a girl under those conditions to go to 
school, even if the opportunity had presented itself. 
We had a school in the neighborhood, however, held 
for a time at the homes of various members of the 
community, and later we built a school house. The 
erection of this building was the first public enterprise, 
so far as I know or have ever heard, that was under- 
taken by the people of that community. I was old 
enough to help in it, and I remember very distinctly 
the meetings the neighbors had to plan the work of 
building, and afterwards, I recall the meeting of the 
men with their teams to do the work. Each man fur- 
nished two logs which he had previously cut and hew- 
ed to the proper dimensions. These he dragged to 
the site selected for the building which was, by the 
way, upon the ground now occupied by the Stamper 
School House. When the logs were all assembled, the 
men and boys came in bringing baskets of provisions 
and food for their oxen and all went to work. The 
house was "raised," as we called it, by laying the logs 
one upon the other in the form of a pen, the length 
exceeding the breadth by about ten feet. The logs 
were carefully notched and fitted down at the corners 
so as to eliminate space between them and do away 
with the necessity of "chinking" to as great an extent 
as possible. The floor was of logs split half in two 
and laid the flat side up. The door was of hewed 
timber and must have been fully two inches thick, 
and was hung upon wooden hinges. At a proper 



Early Days in Buchanan County 13 

height from the ground, one log was sawed out the 
full length of the building to afford light. The roof 
was of clap-boards with logs laid upon them to hold 
them in place. The benches were puncheon — that is 
a long round log split half in two and hewed to a 
smooth surface with legs driven into auger holes be- 
neath. The fireplace extended nearly all the way 
across one end of the room. It was built of rough 
stone as high as the mantel, and from there up the 
chimney was of sticks, plastered inside with clay to 
keep them from burning. A long puncheon was plac- 
ed at the proper angle just underneath the opening 
which served as a window, and this constituted our 
writing desk. When the writing lesson was called, 
each pupil took his copy book and went to this rude 
"desk" where he stood until his lesson was finished. 
I cannot at this time recall the names of all the 
men who participated in the work of building that 
school-house, but among them were George Reynolds, 
George Jeffers, Donald McCray, Philip McCray, Henry 
Guinn, Ambrose McDonald, William Bledsoe, Robert 
Irvin, James Poteet, James Gilmore, Ransom Ridge, 
Bird Smith, Isaac Auxier, Tom Auxier, my father, 
George Gibson, and my uncle, James Gibson. Most of 
these names are familiar to the citizens of this county, 
and their descendants are still substantial citizens of 
that community. I had the inestimable privilege of 
attending school in this building as much as three 
terms of three months each, and this constituted my 
entire educational course so far as schools are con- 
cerned. The sons and daughters of the men I have 
named were my school mates and, at this writing, but 
few of them survive. The men of that day, of course, 
have all passed to their reward many years since. 



14 Recollections of a Pioneer 

It will be easy for the reader to understand me 
when I say that in that day money, that is currency 
or specie, was very hard to procure. Fortunately for 
us we needed very little of it, because there was noth- 
ing to buy with it that we could not procure by a sort 
of trade or barter. We could raise our horses, hogs 
and cattle, but there was no market for them. If a 
neighbor happened not to have what another neighbor 
had beyond his own necessities, some means was de- 
vised by which a trade could be entered into and each 
secure thereby the things he did not previously own. 
I think hemp was about the only thing we could sell 
for money. This we took to Robidoux's landing now 
and then where we procured cash for it, and we then, 
bought such few necessities as our farms did not af- 
ford. 

It must not be understood that the men of that 
day were without enterprise. When I look upon the 
great undertakings of the present day and then recall 
a venture which my father and older brothers and 
myself undertook in 1847, I am compelled to believe 
that of the two, that early enterprise required the 
greater business courage. I have related how my father 
received four thousand dollars for his Tennessee farm 
and how he converted this into silver on the way to 
Missouri. He had in addition to this quite a sum of 
money besides and had accumulated some money dur- 
ing the years of his residence here. 

In the spring of 1847 he began to purchase from 
the neighbors around about and from the men in other 
communities, their surplus cattle, and in this way col- 
lected a herd of five hundred. These cattle were driven 
overland to Iowa where a few of them were sold, 
thence on to Illinois and across Illinois and through 
Indiana and Ohio, peddling them out as we went, and 



Early Days in Buchanan County 15 

into Pennsylvania, where the last of them were sold. 
I went along, and we had many hardships, but some- 
how I did not think so at the time. The trip broke 
the monotony of my life upon the farm and I was glad 
to go, even though I often grew very tired and had to 
endure the exposure to hot sun, wind and rain. We 
made some money on the cattle — quite a good deal. 
We got every dollar of it in silver and carried it home 
on horse back. In 1848, brother Isaac and 1 took 
another drove over about the same route for Peter 
Boyer, who lived near Easton. Our experiences on 
this trip were very much the same as those of the 
former trip, and the enterprise netted Boyer a hand- 
some profit. 



CHAPTER II. 

First Trip to California. 

Late in the year 1848 or early in '49, we began to 
hear wonderful stories about gold in California. News 
traveled very slowly in those days, and we could de- 
pend very little upon its accuracy, but the reports that 
came convinced us that the discovery had actually 
been made and we readily pictured in our own minds 
the fortunes to be had in that country. Difficult as 
the methods of travel were in those days, we were not 
without information as to the route and character of the 
country intervening between us and California. Rob- 
ert Gilmore, a neighbor of ours, had been overland 
to Oregon and back, and could tell us very definitely 
about the country out to a point beyond the Rocky 
Mountains. The talk of gold, and of an expedition to 
the country where it had been found, soon became 
general and it was not long until a party of men was 
made up to try their fortunes in California. Brother 
William, brother James and myself agreed to become 
members of the party, and we rigged up a wagon and 
four yoke of oxen, laid in a year's provisions, provid- 
ed ourselves with guns and plenty of ammunition and 
joined others of a company who had made like 
provision. I must not neglect to mention that 
as an important part of our commissary we ad- 
ded a half barrel of good whiskey. We started on the 
first day of May and stopped over night at St. Joseph. 
The next day, everything being ready, we crossed the 
river on the ferry boat and pitched our tents the first 
night out on Peters Creek. Our party consisted of 
twenty men and boys, all from Buchanan County. 



First Trip to California 17 

They were Robert Gilmore and his son Mat, James 
Gilmore and his son Dave, Ben Poteet, a man by the 
name of Spires and his son. Milt Gilmore, Lum Per- 
kins, a man by the name of Fish, Charles McCray, 
Henry McCray, Liel Hulett, Mitch Hulett, old man 
Greenwood and his two sons. Brother William, Brother 
James, and myself. We had seven wagons, fifty-eight 
head of cattle and seven horses. 

Robert Gilmore was our pilot. His previous jour- 
ney over the road as well as his peculiar fitness for 
the task made the selection of any other person out 
of the question. He had an accurate memory con- 
cerning every point along the road. He knew the cour- 
ses of the rivers and how to cross the desert divides 
at the narrowest places to avoid long distances with- 
out grazing and water for our cattle. He also knew 
better than any of us the habits of the Indians, and his 
experience with them often avoided trouble and saved 
our property and most likely our lives. He was cool- 
headed and prudent and as brave a man as I ever 
knew. It must be remembered that we made no pro- 
vision whatever to feed our cattle and horses. We 
expected to move slowly and allow them time to graze 
for subsistence. During the first part of the journey 
at the season of the year in which it was made, we 
experienced no trouble whatever, as grass was very 
plentiful, but later on, as I shall relate, we often felt 
sorry for the poor dumb beasts that we had taken 
from the fine pastures of Buchanan County and driven 
out into that arid country. 

Our second day's journey brought us to Wolf 
River. During the next few days our journey led 
us by gradual ascent up on to a high prairie, which 
must have been the water shed upon which the town 
of Sabetha is now situated. The whole earth was 



18 Recollections of a Pioneer 

covered by abundant verdure, and I recall very dis- 
tinctly the expansive view which presented itself in 
every direction from the crests of the ridges as we 
passed over them. There was not a single human 
habitation in sight and no evidences that human foot 
had ever been set upon this land, except the dim out- 
line of the trail we were following. Only one or two 
companies were ahead of us and the tracks of their 
wagons and oxen made but little impression upon the 
fresh grown grass. Farther out the almost total ab- 
sence of trees made the most vivid impression upon 
my mind, accustomed as I had been for so many years 
to a timbered country, and though I could see no evi- 
dences that the soil was not productive, I could hardly 
believe this place would ever be a fit habitation for 
men. We traveled some days over such country as I 
have described and no doubt passed over the sites of 
many present flourishing towns. The sixth or seventh 
day out, if I remember correctly, we reached the Big 
Blue. In our journey thus far, we had occasionally 
seen deer and antelope, but when we began to descend 
into the valley of the Big Blue we saw great numbers 
of these animals. On the banks of the river we 
found in camp a party of eastern emigrants who had 
left St. Joseph a few days in advance of our train. 
Their teams were all horses and they had camped for 
a time in order to lay in a supply of venison. Their 
horses were then in fine condition and they were rid- 
ing them out on the prairies chasing the deer and 
antelope. We camped for the night and next morn- 
ing, as usual, plodded on. Later in the day we were 
overtaken by these emigrants who trotted by us with 
their faster teams and made fun of our equipment. 
They told us, as they passed, that they would have the 
gold in California all mined out before we got there. 



First Trip to California 19 

Some of us, the younger members at least, who had 
had no experience on the plains, felt that they might 
be telling us the truth; but Gilmore assured us that 
we had taken the safer course and that we would reach 
California long in advance of those men, and that it 
was doubtful if they would ever get there at all. 
Weeks later Gilmore had the satisfaction of verifying 
what he had told us, for we overtook and passed these 
very trains. Their horses were thin and poor, starved 
out on the short grass, and famished for water. 

From Big Blue we crossed a rolling divide to Little 
Blue and followed that stream a long distance, then 
across a high prairie, that seemed to be almost per- 
fectly level. It was on this part of the journey that 
we had our first disagreeable experience. Up to that 
time, the boys of the party at least, had looked upon 
crossing the plains as a great frolic. The weather had 
been fine. The company was congenial and the nov- 
elty of the whole thing kept us well entertained. 
Shortly after we broke camp one morning and start- 
ed on a twenty mile drive, it began to rain and« con- 
tinued all day long a steady downpour. We had found 
no wood with which to cook dinner and had eaten cold 
victuals, with some relish, believing we would find 
plenty of firewood at night. We traveled until quite 
late and finally stopped at a small creek, where other 
emigrants had camped, but there was no wood, not a 
stick to be found. The only thing in sight was a tough 
old log which had been hacked and hewed by preced- 
ing emigrants until scarcely a splinter could be chop- 
ped from it. The buffalo chips were all wet and it 
was still raining. The boys were not so gay that night. 
They managed, after hard work, to get splinters enough 
off the old log to heat up the coffee and that was the 
only warm article of diet we had for supper. We made 



20 Recollections of a Pioneer 

the best of it and after supper prepared to crawl into 
wet tents to sleep if we could. Bad as the prospect 
was, I was happy that it was not my turn to stand 
guard. It rained all night and next morning the boys 
who had been on guard were sorry-looking fellows 
and the cattle and horses little better. I do not re- 
member how we managed to get breakfast, but I do 
recall that we started early and pushed on still through 
the rain. The moving warmed us up and we were 
much better off traveling than in camp. 

We reached Platte River late the same day at a 
point which must have been some miles above the 
location of the present city of Grand Island, 
probably about the site of the City of Kearney. 
The river was running bank full and the only fire wood 
in sight was on an island out in the stream. The 
stream, though wide, was not deep, and we rode our 
horses over and carried back wood enough to make a 
fire, though it was a very bad one. It stopped raining 
about night, but remained cloudy and cold and we 
passed the night with less comfort, I believe, than the 
night before. Next day we made only twenty miles 
but stopped long before night at the mouth of a little 
stream or gulch that descended down into Platte 
River which we knew as Plum Creek. The wind had 
blown from the north all day and had chilled us 
through and through in our wet clothing. The princi- 
pal inducement to the halt was the canj^on through 
which Plum Creek emptied into the river. It afford- 
ed a sheltered camping place and its sides were cover- 
ed with red cedar which made splendid firewood. 
We pitched our tents in behind a high bluff and im- 
mediately built a blazing fire. Everybody was busy. 
Blankets were stretched upon poles before the fire 
and the wet extra clothing was hung out to dry in like 



First Trip to California 21 

manner. We cooked the best meal tlie stores would 
afford and prepared plenty of it. Before night we 
were all dry and warm, had had plenty to eat, and 
were again in a happy frame of mind. There was but 
one thing to prevent complete satisfaction with the 
situation and that was that at this very point in years 
gone by several vicious attacks had been made upon 
emigrants by the Indians. It was a fine place for 
the Indians to ambush the unwary traveler. Gilmore 
had learned the story of these attacks on his previous 
trip and immediately after we had supper he started 
the members of the company out in various directions 
to look for Indians. It was an hour or more until 
sundown, as I recollect, so we climbed to the tops of 
the hills and inspected the country for miles around. 
There was not a single sign of Indians anywhere to be 
seen. He told us to look particularly for smoke as 
we would probably not see the Indians but would dis- 
cover the smoke from their fires coming up out of 
the valleys. The favorable report made to Gilmore 
did not satisfy him. Weary as we all were, he order- 
ed a double guard that night. I stood with the boys 
the first half of the night. At sundown the sky had 
cleared of clouds and the wind had ceased to blow. 
The whole earth was as still as death. The only sound 
that broke the silence was the howl of a wolf now 
and then away off in the distance. 

The next morning the camp was astir bright and 
early. The oxen and horses were rounded up and 
hitched to the wagons and after a good breakfast we 
packed the camp outfit and started on our journey 
up Platte River, following the south bank. The clear 
sky and bright sunshine soon made us forget the hard- 
ships of the two previous days, and our company was 
again in good spirits. I have not been able to locate 



22 Recollections of a Pioneer 

the exact position of Plum Creek. It was out some dis- 
tance beyond the Grand Island and almost at the be- 
ginning of what we called the sand bluffs. I do not 
recall any incident worth mentioning on the journey up 
this stream except that in a few days after we left 
Plum Creek we passed the junction of the North and 
South Platte. The trail followed the South Platte and 
we followed the trail. About fifty miles beyond the 
junction we crossed the South Platte and went over a 
high ridge and down a steep canyon about five miles 
in length into the valley of the North Platte. I have 
never known why this early trail led up the South 
Platte instead of crossing the main stream at the junc- 
tion and moving directly up the North Platte, as was 
done later by all the emigrant trains. 

We reached North Platte about night and found 
a large tribe of Indians in camp. It was no very pleas- 
ing prospect to most of us to go into camp so near the 
Indians, but Gilmore told us that we would not likely 
have any trouble as Indians were always peaceable 
when their squaws and pappooses were with them. I 
never forgot this remark by Gilmore and had occasion 
many times afterwards, as I shall relate, to observe 
the truth of his statement. We put a strong guard 
around the cattle. We did not fear for ourselves, but 
were alarmed somewhat on account of the cattle, as we 
expected that the Indians were probably scarce of 
food and might try to get one or two of them. The 
Indians seemed to be astir most all night and we im- 
agined that they were watching to catch us off guard, 
or probably to catch a stray horse or ox that might 
wander away from the herd. Morning brought us great 
relief, and we soon packed up and moved on up the 
North Platte as fast as we could. 



First Trip to California 23 

Some seventy-five miles or more up the North 
Platte we passed those strange looking elevations which 
had the appearance at a distance of immense build- 
ings in ruins and which have been mentioned by so 
many of the early emigrants. Two of these formations 
which stood side by side were especially noticeable. 
They both rose abruptly from the level table land to 
a height of two hundred feet or more. The larger 
and taller of the two was not so well proportioned 
as the smaller, but both of them easily gave the im- 
pression, viewed from the path of our trail, of great 
castles with wings and turrets, all tumbling down and 
wasting away. Gilmore told us that the earlier travel- 
ers on the Oregon trail had called these formations 
the "court houses." Some distance beyond these curi- 
osities we came to Chimney Rock, which I am sure 
every one who passed over the trail remembers. It 
stood out in the valley of the Platte several hundred 
feet from the main bluff of the river and rose to a 
height of nearly three hundred feet, as we estimated. 
The base covered a considerable area of ground and 
the top was probably fifty feet across. It was a mix- 
ture of sand, clay and stones, and the action of the 
weather had crumbled much of the upper portions 
about the base. 

A little beyond Chimney Rock we came to Scott's 
Bluffs, which we reached late in the afternoon. We 
drove into a beautiful little valley and camped for the 
night. Just about dark the most terrific thunder storm 
I ever experienced in my life broke upon us. The 
whole valley seemed to be lit up in a blaze of fire 
and the thunder was deafening. Some three or four 
emigrant trains which we had overtaken were camped 
in this valley and next morning we counted fifteen 
cattle that had been killed by bolts of lightning. For- 



24 Recollections of a Pioneer 

tunately none of them belonged to us. Scott's Bluffs 
is a single row of hills or perpendicular cliffs standing 
out in the valley between the main table land and the 
channel of the river. They are much like Chimney 
Rock in formation and are of various forms and moulds 
and present a strange appearance from the path of 
the trail. We passed for miles between these bluffs 
and the table land with the river over beyond the 
bluffs. 

Fort Laramie was our next point, some sixty miles 
farther on. The fort is situated on Laramie River 
about a mile above its union with the North Platte. 
Here we saw the first white man, except the emigrants 
who were outward bound with us, since leaving home. 
We were given a very hearty welcome by the soldiers 
and the few others who lived there. They asked us 
many questions and told us they had had no news from 
home all winter until the emigrant trains began to ar- 
rive. The Indians were constantly about them and 
they had to be very careful to avoid trouble with them. 
Their greatest difficulty was to procure firewood, 
which they found some considerable distance from 
the fort and over the river. They told us they always 
sent a guard of soldiers out with the wagons when they 
went after wood. We camped there over night and 
I was on picket. Next morning at daylight I saw a 
beautiful mound not far away,and as I was anxious to 
investigate everything, I walked over to it. I found it 
was an Indian burying ground, and was literal^ cover- 
ed with human and animal bones which had been 
placed around, apparently in an effort to decorate, 
and human skulls seemed to be a particular favorite. 
Hundreds of them it seemed to me lay grinning at me. 
I am sure had I known this grewsome sight was so close 
to me I could never have been induced to stand guard 



First Trip to California 25 

all night in the darkness. I was but a boy then and 
this scene horrified me. I soon learned, however, not 
to be afraid of dead Indians. 

After a rest of a day or two under the protection 
of the Fort, we started forward, moving across a high, 
mountainous country which occupied the wide bend 
in the North Platte River. As I recall, the distance 
across this strip of country is probably one hundred 
and fifty miles or more. Many places were very rug- 
ged and we experienced much difficulty in making 
our way. On this portion of the road we had great 
difficulty also with the Indians — that is we continually 
feared trouble. We were not attacked at any time 
nor did we lose any of our horses or cattle, but we 
lived in continual fear both of our lives and of our 
property. The Crow and Sioux tribes occupied this 
land and they were war-like and troublesome savages. 
Scarcely a man in the company dared go to sleep dur- 
ing the whole journey from Fort Laramie to the point 
where we reached Platte River again, opposite the 
mouth of Sweetwater. It was in this very country, as 
I shall relate hereafter, that these Indians tried to kill 
and rob my brothers and myself in '51, and in '55, while 
my brother James and my youngest brother Robert 
tvere bringing a drove of cattle across, my brother 
Hobert, only seventeen years old, was killed. I think 
all the early travelers across the plains dreaded the 
Indians on this portion of the road more than any 
other obstacle to be found on the entire journey, not 
excepting the alkali deserts of Utah and Nevada. 
When we again reached Platte River it was very high 
and the current very swift. It was out of the question 
to attempt fording it, and it looked for a time as if our 
progress would be retarded perhaps for many days. 
It would serve no purpose to attempt to find a better 



26 Recollections of a Pioneer 

place to cross, for from the amount of water in the 
river, we felt quite certain we could find no place with- 
in one hundred miles where the wagons could be driven 
over. We had one satisfaction left to us and that was 
that we had plenty of water and plenty of grass, and 
if we had to stay on this side of the river any consid- 
erable time we were in no danger of losing our stock. 
We camped and rested a day and thought about the 
situation. Finally we decided to try rafting the wagons 
over and herding the cattle across. We cut four good 
sized Cottonwood logs from the timber which grew near 
to the stream, fastened ropes to them and pushed them 
in the water. They were then tied firmly together and 
anchored to the shore. We then unloaded the wagons, 
took off the boxes or beds, and set one upon these 
logs. We then reloaded this bed and four men with 
long poles got upon the raft and some one on the 
bank untied the rope. I thought from the way this rude 
ship started down stream that it would reach St. Jo- 
seph in about three days if it kept up that rate of 
speed. The current caught it and dashed it along at 
a great rate and I was considerably alarmed, I remem- 
ber, for a good portion of our provisions had been 
placed in the wagon box. The boys on the raft, how- 
ever, kept their heads and though none of them were 
much accustomed to the water, they understood enough 
about it to avoid upsetting the craft. Little by little 
they pushed and paddled toward the middle of the 
stream and finally brought it up to shore probably a 
mile down stream. After anchoring the raft the arti- 
cles loaded into the wagon bed were removed, placed 
upon the bank and finally the wagon bed was taken 
off and likewise placed on high ground. The boys 
then with great difficulty towed the raft along the 
shore up stream to a point far enough above the camp 



First Trip to California 27 

on the opposite bank to enable them to pilot it back to 
the desired landing place. They finally brought it up 
when, after anchoring it firmly, the running gears of 
the wagon were rolled down and pushed out upon the 
raft, the axles resting on the logs and the wheels ex- 
tending down into the water. This cargo was ferried 
across in the same manner. In this way after much 
labor, paddhng and poling this raft back and forth, 
our entire outfit was landed safely on the opposite side 
of the stream. Our belongings were, however, pretty 
widely scattered, because the boys always unloaded at 
the place they were able to land. It took much time to 
again rig up the wagons and collect the provisions and 
camp equipment and get it all together again. 

We had allowed our cattle to remain on the east 
side of the river during this operation, and after every- 
thing was ready on the opposite side we rounded them 
up and pushed them into the water. They swam across 
in fine shape, the men swimming their horses after 
them. It was a great relief to all of us to feel that we 
were safely across and to realize that we had saved a 
good many days, perhaps, by the effort we had made. 
We were especially desirous of keeping well in front 
of the emigrant trains that we knew to be upon the 
road in order that our oxen and horses might have bet- 
ter grazing and we felt that by the accomplishment of 
the task which had just been finished we had probabty 
set ourselves in advance of many of the trains. 

After a good rest we moved on and soon entered 
the valley of Sweetwater River which we followed for 
many miles. Toward the head waters of this stream 
we passed Independence Rock, which, even in that day, 
was a marked natural curiosity much spoken of by 
travelers. There were many names cut in the smooth 
face of this immense boulder and we added our own 



28 Recollections of a Pioneer 

to the list. A long toilsome climb after leaving Inde- 
pendence Rock brought us to the crest of the continental 
divide from which we descended into the valley of 
Green River. This is an extensive basin and we were 
a good many days passing through it, but met with no 
occurrences worthy of special mention. As we passed 
out of the valley, our road led us over a high range of 
mountains and I shall always remember the view 
which presented itself in front of us as we reached 
the top. The valley of Rear River lay before us for 
many miles. The view was obstructed only by the fact 
that the eye had not the power to see all that was spread 
before it. In all my experience in the mountains, I 
can at this moment recall no place that presents so 
striking a picture as the one which remains in my 
memory of this scene. I cannot locate the place upon 
the map, except approximately, though I have often 
tried to do so. In those days we had few names. There 
were no county lines and no towns by which to locate 
natural objects so they might be pointed out to others. 
Even the mountain ranges and many of the smaller 
streams had either not received names or we had 
not heard them. The place I have been attempt- 
ing to describe was near the extreme western border 
of Wyoming and must have been about opposite Rear 
Lake in Idaho, perhaps a little north. 

An incident occurred at this place which served to 
impress it upon my mind independent of its natural 
beauties. Shorth^ before we approached the crest of 
the mountain we began to see emigrant wagons ahead. 
Finally we noticed what appeared to be an immense 
train stretching out in front of us. On nearer ap- 
proach we discovered that some forty or fifty wagons 
which had fallen into the Oregon trail at various places 
along the line were blocked, apparently by the difficul- 



First Trip to California 29 

ties attending a descent of the opposite side of 
the mountain. We halted our teams and went for- 
ward on foot and discovered that there was but one 
place where the descent could be made at all and that 
was along a steep, rough canyon at one place in which 
the wagons had to be let down by hand. We approach- 
ed and watched the operation for an hour or two. The 
teams and wagons in proper turn passed down to 
this abrupt place where the oxen were taken off 
and driven down. The wagons, rough-locked with 
chains, were then let down by long ropes, a great 
many men holding to the ropes to prevent the wagon 
from running away. It was very slow work and we 
immediately saw that a delay of three or four days 
at least was ahead of us if we waited to take our turn 
down this embankment. A conference was called as 
soon as our men got back to the wagons. Gilmore 
said he was not willing to believe that the point these 
emigrants had selected was the only place where the 
teams could get down, so he and a few more of our 
company started to the left of the trail to seek a new 
place. After about two hours, Gilmore and his men 
came back and said they thought they had found a 
place and directed the teams to move forward. A 
long winding drive down a spur or ridge that led off 
to the left of the canyon brought us to the place Gil- 
more had discovered. I went up and took a look 
and I confess that I was very much afraid we could 
not make it. There was not a tree, nor a log, nor any- 
thing else out of which we could make a drag to tie 
behind the wagons and thus retard them as they mov- 
ed down the slope. I saw that Gilmore had some plan 
in his mind, however, and waited to see it develop. 
He ordered the three front yoke of oxen off the front 
wagon and directed that they be taken to the rear of 



30 Recollections of a Pioneer 

the wagon leaving the wheel yoke hitched to the ton- 
gue. These three yoke of oxen were tied by a chain 
to the rear axle. The wheels were all four rough- 
locked with chains made fast and tight. When 
this was done we gathered our whips and told the 
oxen to move on. As the wheel yoke started forward 
the wagon pitched down upon them. They set their 
feet forward and laid back upon the tongue. When 
the chain tightened on the three yoke tied to the j:ear, 
they, like the yoke in front, set their feet and laid back 
upon the chain. Then the whole — wagon and oxen — 
went plowing down the mountain side more than one 
hundred yards before the ground became level enough 
to release the wheels. It was a great relief to be able 
to unlock the wheels and release the oxen and know 
that all was safe. The six other wagons repeated this 
experience in turn. The whole descent had required 
but little more than two hours and we found ourselves 
well down into the valley of Bear River two days 
ahead of time, and best of all, in the lead of those 
emigrants who were waiting to let their wagons down 
by hand over on the other road. 

Soda Springs on Bear River was our next point. 
We reached it after a two days' journey from the point 
where we had descended the mountain. Here I saw 
another wonder — to me. Water, almost boiling, spurted 
right up out of the ground. One spring in particular 
which they told us had been named Steamboat Spring 
was especially noticeable. Every three or four min- 
utes it would throw a jet of water up four or 
five feet high, then subside. Just about the time every 
thing seemed to be getting settled, the water would 
gush out again. This continued at regular intervals 
night and day and may, for all I know, still be going 
on. There were a number of hot springs, besides 



First Trip to California 31 

several other springs, the water of which was strongly 
impregnated with soda. We halted a little while 
here to rest and to inspect this great wonder and 
then pushed on in a north-westerly direction to- 
ward Fort Hall, which is located on Snake River. 
This required about a three days' drive, as I remember. 
We knew at the time that this course took us consid- 
erably out of the way, but we had no information as 
to the barriers to be encountered by an attempt to short- 
en the route, so we were content to follow the beaten 
trail. 

I remember an incident which occurred at Fort 
Hall. We had fallen in with a train from Jackson 
County which was known as Hayes' train, and we all 
journeyed together to Fort Hall. A government fort 
was located there and Hayes found in the fort, a negro 
man who had run off from his Jackson County planta- 
tion six years before. Hayes instead of asserting 
ownership over this negro and compelling him to go 
back into servitude, made a contract with him to drive 
one of his teams through to California and work one 
year for him in California, after which the negro was 
to have his freedoin. This seemed to suit the negro 
exactly and he picked up his long gad and started af- 
ter the oxen. We all moved together down Snake 
River to the mouth of Raft River, and on this part of 
the journey an incident occurred which caused all of 
us a good deal of uneasiness. Hayes had a bright lad 
with him about sixteen years old who was always play- 
ing pranks. He also had a driver who was dreadfully 
afraid of Indians. One night after we had camped, the 
lad took a red blanket and slipped away from the camp 
around near to where the driver was standing guard. 
He threw the blanket over his shoulders after the 
fashion of the Indians and secreted himself behind an 



32 Recollections of a Pioneer 

obstruction, and at the proper time, slipped out of his 
place of conceahiient and started toward the driver. 
The driver ran just as the boy had anticipated, but 
when the boy started to follow, playing Indian all the 
time, the driver halted long enough to put a load of 
shot into the boy. Fortunately the shot was not fatal, 
but the boy was dreadfully wounded and had to be 
hauled in one of the wagons clear on to California. 
We had little or no means of giving him attention and 
the poor boy suffered a great deal, but he finally got 
well. 

When we reached the mouth of Raft River, a small 
stream which flows into the Snake River from the 
south, we halted for a conference. Hayes with his train 
was accompanying us, but he knew no more about the 
country than we. It was clear that we must break 
away from the Oregon trail at some point in that im- 
mediate vicinity and it occurred to us that this little 
river would afford the most likely passage to the crest 
of the divide from which we could descend into the 
valley of the Humboldt. Accordingly our oxen were 
turned out of the beaten path and headed over an 
unknown stretch of country. We experienced very lit- 
tle difficulty that I now recall so long as we were able 
to follow the river, but by and by the stream became 
very small and led us into a rugged, mountainous 
country. After much climbing and wandering about 
we reached the crest of a divide which is now called 
the Raft River Mountains; passing down the farther 
slope of these mountains we encountered a dreadful 
alkali desert before reaching the main stem of the 
Humboldt River. The men, horses and cattle suffered 
greatly. The alkali dust raised by the moving teams 
parched the throat and nostrils and lack of water de- 
nied either to man or beast any relief. Fortunately 



First Trip to California 33 

for us, this did not last many days. Whether by ac- 
cident or from good judgment, we soon located a good 
sized stream of water which eventually proved to be 
one of the main prongs of Humboldt River. We fol- 
lowed this stream probably two hundred miles or more, 
and while the grazing was very short, we had plenty 
of water and were able to get along. 

One night just before we reached Big Meadow, 
while we were camped alongside the Humboldt River, 
a band of Digger Indians slipped into our herd and 
drove two of the cattle away. Next morning after 
rounding up the cattle these oxen were missed and 
search was immediately instituted. Bob and James 
Gilmore, Charles McCray and brother William got on 
their horses and made a wide circle about the camp. 
They discovered tracks leading toward the mountains 
and followed them. After they had gone several miles 
and could still see nothing of the cattle, they became 
convinced that the Indians had taken them into the 
mountains, and as McCray and Gibson had gone away 
without their guns, McCray was sent back to get them. 
McCray reached camp, got the guns and started out 
to overtake the boys, but soon returned saying he could 
not find them. The company remained in camp wait- 
ing continually for their return and when, late in the 
afternoon, they had not returned, we began to feel 
quite uneasy. When night came and they had still 
not returned, we piled sage brush on our camp fire and 
kept it burning very bright to light them in. No one 
in the camp slept and as the hours passed, uneasiness 
increased. Finally, late in the night they came in, all 
safe, but very tired and without the cattle, and gave 
us the following account of their experience. 

They had followed the tracks of the cattle through 
the sand fifteen miles and traced them into a steep, 



34 Recollections of a Pioneer 

rough gorge or canyon that opened into the valley 
from the mountain. They entered this gorge with great 
caution and had not gone far when they found the car- 
casses of the cattle warm and bleeding, but no Indians 
in sight. They were convinced that Indians could not 
be far away, and momentarily expected an attack from 
ambush. The Indians had evidently posted a watch on 
some high point on the mountain, who, when the men 
were seen approaching, gave the alarm, upon which 
the cattle were immediately killed and the Indians 
fled to cover. 

It was then nearly night. The horses were poor 
and weak, and neither the horses nor the men had 
tasted food or water throughout the day, and there was 
no relief except in camp. Delay was useless, so they 
turned immediately and started back. After reaching 
the plain they noticed far out in the distance a cloud 
of dust on the horizon and supposed at first it was a 
small whirlwind, as whirlwinds were very common 
on those sandy deserts. The dust continued to rise 
and apparently to approach toward them, and in a 
little while they were able to make out objects moving 
through it. They then knew that the Indians, having 
been warned of their approach and having seen them 
enter the canyon, had made a wide circle to the rear, 
and that their purpose was to cut them off from camp. 
Only a few minutes were required to reveal the fact 
that the Indians, about thirty in number, were coming 
toward them as fast as their ponies could gallop, and 
a brief counsel of war was held. To attempt to out-run 
them on the poor jaded horses was out of the 
question, and the situation looked rather desperate. 
Their lack of guns and ammunition and their inferior 
numbers made the result of a fight very doubtful. 
They had no choice but to make the best of it, and the 



First Trip to California 35 

only thing in their favor was the well known coward- 
ice of the Indians in an open face to face fight. Each 
of the Gilmores had a double barrel shot gun and Gib- 
son had his bowie knife and these were the weapons 
with which the fight had to be made. The boys dis- 
mounted and as the Indians came within easy view of 
them they stepped out in front of their horses and 
waited. The men with the guns held them in position 
to fire and Gibson drew his bowie knife and held it 
steadily in his hand. The Indians came on furiously, 
screaming and yelling, but the boys did not stir a step. 
The plan was to let them come and get as many of 
them as possible with the four loads that were in the 
guns, then with the knife and the guns as clubs, fight 
it out. 

The boys said that for two or three minutes there 
was every indication that the Indians really meant 
to fight. They showed no disposition to halt, but came 
yelling and dashing forward until they were almost in 
range of the guns. Even though the boys were not 
equal to the task they had to keep their nerve. If they 
had shown the least disposition to waver or to change 
positions the Indians would have been encouraged to 
come upon them. They stood as firm and steady as 
though they were made of stone. Not a word was 
spoken, except that Bob Gilmore quietly counselled 
the boys to stand perfectly still. This attitude was too 
much for the Indians. They became convinced that 
they really had a fight on their hands, and when with- 
in seventy-five yards they came to a sudden halt and 
all danger was past. The bluff had worked and 
the Indians were going to pretend they never had any 
hostile intentions. The boys continued to stand per- 
fectly firm and wait. After a moment or two, three 
or four Indians came forward bowing, making every 



36 Recollections of a Pioneer 

demonstration of friendship, saying, "How, How," and 
asking for tobacco. Gibson in return bowed to them 
and said "How, How." He also indicated they could 
have tobacco if they would approach, but the Gilmores 
kept their guns steadily raised in the same position. 
When within twenty or thirty feet, the Indians stopped 
and Gibson approached a little nearer to them and 
put on an appearance of great friendship. He had no 
tobacco, but the Gilmores had, so Gibson went back 
for it, the others remaining in position to fire, and took 
it from their pockets. The Indians then bowed and 
the boys bowed and the Indians turned and went back 
to their companions. The four emissaries who had 
come out for the tobacco mounted their ponies and 
the whole thirty of them rode away. The boys kept 
their positions until the Indians were far out on the 
plain. They could see them as they rode away, turn 
on their ponies and watch them, and they proposed 
to give them to understand that there was a fight ready 
for them if they desired it, and thus probably prevent 
an attack farther on in their journey to camp and 
after night. 

When the Indians were well out of the way, the 
party journeyed on. It was then nearly sundown and 
fifteen miles to camp. The boys had taken note of 
the natural objects along the road out, and before it 
grew entirely dark they located these objects with 
reference to certain stars that would lead them after 
night, and in this way managed to get along until they 
came to where they could see the reflection of the 
burning sage brush upon the sky. We were greatly 
rejoiced to see them, and even though they did not 
bring the cattle back, we felt after our hours of anx- 
iety that the loss of the cattle was but a trivial matter. 



First Trip to California 37 

A few days' drive after our encounter with the 
Indians brought us to Big Meadow, a name given to a 
sort of oasis which was covered with abundant grass 
and where our cattle could get the finest water. We 
took a good rest here and it was a delight to see tht 
cattle and horses, after their long drive over the sand 
and through the sage brush, wade belly deep in the 
finest of grass. During our stay at this place we cut 
and cured a large quantity of hay and loaded it on 
our wagons. We had heard that there was a desert 
ahead and wanted to be prepared for it. We must 
have spent four or five days at this place, and when 
we set forward both men and cattle were much re- 
freshed. A day's journey, as I remember, brought us 
to the lower end of Humboldt Lake, where, so far as 
we could see, Humboldt River stopped, that is the 
river ran into this lake and there was apparently no 
outlet. We could see a barren country ahead, and 
rightly judged that we were approaching the desert 
we had heard of. 

Next morning everything was prepared for a long 
drive without grazing or water. We left early and all 
day long traveled over a hot, dry plain without once 
finding a drop of water, and where there was no vege- 
tation upon which our cattle could feed. When night 
came a conference was held. To attempt to camp in 
that arid place without food or water would weaken 
our stock and exhaust our men, so we decided not to 
camp at all. Accordingly the weary oxen and horses 
were pushed on at increased speed. We traveled all 
night long and when daylight came there was still no 
prospect of relief. To stop, however, was more likely 
to bring disaster than to go on, so we kept moving. 
About noon we began to see some evidences of a 
change. Off in the distance we thought we could see 



38 Recollections of a Pioneer 

that the land had a green appearance, and this raised 
our hopes. On nearer approach we found that our 
first impressions were correct and that we were really 
approaching food and water. In a little while we came 
to a prong of what I learned afterwards was Carson 
River, which came down from the mountains and ran 
in an opposite direction from the Humboldt River. 
The water was clear and had hardly a tinge of alkali 
in it. When our cattle and horses saw the water, we 
could not hold them and we did not try very much, 
for we were almost as nearly famished as they. We 
took the yokes off of them and let them go. They 
ran pell-mell down to the water and plunged into it. 
The men did scarcely better. Many of them jumped 
right into the water with their clothes on and drank 
and splashed by turns until they had slaked their 
thirst and relieved their parched throats. As soon as 
food could be prepared, and eaten, everybody went 
to sleep except those who were detailed to stand guard 
the first two hours. We remained there, the guard 
being relieved every two hours, until the following 
morning, when both men and cattle were sufficiently 
refreshed to proceed. 

Thenceforward our journey led us up Carson 
River. This was not a hard journey. The grass was 
fine and the water clear. There was no occasion for 
hurry. It was then growing toward the end of July 
and the worst of our journey was over. 

We moved only fifteen or twenty iniles a day and 
allowed our cattle and horses to browse along and fill 
themselves as they went. Nearly a hundred miles up 
the river we came to Carson Valley, where Carson 
City is now situated. As I recall my whole journey, I 
can think of no place that so impressed me with its 
beauty. Six miles across this valley, we came to 



First Trip to California 39 

the mouth of Carson River Canyon where the river 
flows out of the mountain. Six miles farther on and 
after crossing the river a dozen times or more, we 
passed out of the canyon and found ourselves at the 
foot of what we named "The Two-Mile Mountain." 
This mountain had to be climbed. It was so steep that 
ten yoke of oxen were required to draw each wagon 
up. This made slow work, as some of the wagons had 
to be left at the bottom and the oxen brought back to 
get them. After reaching the top, we journeyed on 
and came to Red Lake. This was a beautiful body of 
water. I am not sure whether it is what is now called 
Lake Tahoe or not, though I feel sure it is. After pass- 
ing beyond this lake, we came to the "Six-Mile Moun- 
tain." This was not so steep as the "Two-Mile Moun- 
tain," but it was a much longer pull. As we approach- 
ed the top w^e came to snow. This was the 5th day 
of August, 1849. Before we reached the very crest of 
the range our oxen had to pass over great drifts of 
frozen snow which, for all we knew, may have been 
hundreds of feet deep. At the top of the mountain we 
were on the crest of the Sierra Nevada Range, and it was 
a great relief to start down hill. One of the men went 
forward and picked out a route and twelve miles down 
the mountain we came to Rock Creek. Beyond this 
we encountered a descent which was almost as abrupt 
as our descent into Bear River Valley, but in the pres- 
ent place, we had plenty of timber, so we cut large 
trees and tied them by chains to the rear of the wagons 
and allowed them to drag behind. This put a very 
effective brake upon the wagons and enabled them 
to go down safely. 

I remember an occurrence which took place shortly 
before we made this descent. Our road led along the 
edge of a steep declivity which seemed to be a thousand 



40 Recollections of a Pioneer 

feet above the valley below. Mitch Hulett and I found 
it great sport to roll rocks off this precipice and watch 
them bound away down along the mountain-side. 
Sometimes we would pry a rock loose that would weigh 
two or three tons and watch it plunge down, tearing 
through the timber with frightful noise, scaring grouse, 
pheasants and wild animals out of the brush in great 
numbers. Some of the huge rocks would occasionally 
strike a jutting portion of the mountain and bound a 
hundred yards downward without striking a single 
obstruction. We had not noticed the lapse of time and 
the train got far ahead of us. By and by, we heard a 
great noise to the rear and in another moment a band 
of Indians dashed around a curve in the road and 
were right upon us. There was nothing we could do 
but run. The road ahead was down hill, and I have 
always thought we made a pretty good job of it. We 
broke away at full speed, never stopping to look back, 
and expecting every moment to feel the arrows in our 
backs or to see or hear them whiz past us. Every step 
gave us hope, and after a long run and when complete- 
ly exhausted, we ventured to halt and look and listen, 
we discovered that we were not being followed at all. 
The Indians must have been greatly amused at our 
fright, but we were still unwilling to take chances and 
made the best haste we could to overtake the wagons. 
It required more than two hours, so rapidly had the 
time passed in our sport. That was the last time our 
pranks ever induced us to let the teams get so far ahead. 
A place which afterwards came to be called Leake 
Springs is the next point I remember. We camped 
there for the night and on subsequent journeys I grew 
familiar with it. Twenty miles beyond this we came 
to Grass Valley and emerged from the high moun- 
tains. Fifteen miles farther we came to Weaver 



First Trip to Califori^ia 41 

Creek, August 12th, 1849, where we first saw the gold 
ghtter. 

We thought our train was first over the trail, but 
somehow a few had beaten us in. When we got down 
to Weaver Creek, three emigrants were at work pan- 
ning out the gold. We stopped and camped and watch- 
ed them for a long time. That night I was taken sick 
with the flux. It was a bad place to be sick and I 
was dreadfully sick, too. They fixed me sort of a pal- 
let under the shade of a big tree, and I lay there night 
and day for a week and they didn't know whether I 
would live or die. Trains were constantly arriving and 
in one of them there was a doctor. He came down to 
see me and told the boys they must hunt up a cow 
and give me fresh warm milk. They told me after- 
wards they found a train in which somebody had fore- 
sight enough to bring a cow along, and they got the 
milk and brought it to me. I drank it and soon re- 
covered. 



CHAPTER III. 
Gold Mining in '49 and '50. 

At last we were in California. I had a rather bit- 
ter introduction, but I soon felt well again and began 
to look about to see what California was really like 
and to learn the truth of all the wonderful stories 
I had heard about gold. We didn't want to take up 
claims immediately — wanted to look about and get the 
best location possible. They told us about Sacramento 
City being down the river and we decided to go down 
there. Weaver Creek was a small tributary of the 
American River, so we went down to the main stream 
and moved on down in the direction of Sacramento 
Cit3^ We met a man who said he had just been down 
there. We asked him how far it was, and he said forty 
miles. Said it was at the mouth of the American 
River, that is, where the American River flowed into 
the Sacramento River. In two days we reached the 
mouth of the river, but we didn't see any city. I saw 
a few tents, and there was an old sail boat anchor- 
ed on Sacramento River up close to the bank, but that 
was all. I asked a man where Sacramento City was. 
He said, "This is the place." 

We didn't expect to find much of a city, but were 
hardly prepared for what we found. We stretched our 
tent, turned our cattle out to graze and prepared for a 
rest. It was a delightful place. I never saw finer grass 
nor finer water, and we still had plenty to eat. Toward 
the close of the day I went down to where the sail boat 
was being unloaded. Four or five men were carr^dng 
provisions — flour, bacon, pickled pork, sugar, coffee, 
rice — in fact everything substantial to eat, out of the 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 43 

boat and throwing it upon the bank among the grape 
vines. I saw no owner. There were no poUce and no- 
body seemed to be afraid of thieves. They were not 
afraid either of rain, for none could be expected at 
that season of the year. Nor was there even any dew. 
Everything seemed to be safe both day and night. 

Our lean old cattle fattened fast and in a little 
while we could hardly recognize them. It was a joy to 
see them eat and drink and rest after the hardships 
they had endured. The poor things had suffered even 
more than the men. 

About the first of September we started back to 
the mines. Twenty miles up the American River we 
each took up a claim and went to work. Everything 
was placer mining. Each man had his pan and with it 
and the water of the river, he washed the gravel away 
from the loose gold. We worked there several weeks 
and so far as we could see, exhausted the gold that was 
in our claims. We found on estimating the result of 
our work that each man had averaged about sixteen 
dollars a day for every day he had worked. 

About the time our claims were exhausted, we were 
surprised to meet Russell Hill, a cousin of mine, who 
had worked his way down from Oregon to Sacramento 
by way of Shasta City, and learning at Sacramento 
that we were up the American River, had come on up 
to see us. He had left his home in Iowa the year be- 
fore and had gone to Oregon. He told us he had stop- 
ped a few days at Shasta City and believed it to be a 
better mining place than the American River, and urg- 
ed us to go there. Accordingly we yoked up our oxen 
and packed our belongings into the wagons again and 
started. When we reached Sacramento City this time, 
it was not necessary to ask where the city was. The 
whole valley was covered with tents and lunch stands. 



44 Recollections of a Pioneer 

There must have been several thousand people there. 
They had come in from everywhere, off the plains by 
caravan, up the river from San Francisco by boat, and 
from every other place in the world, it seemed to me. 
There were as yet no houses. People, men mostly, 
lived in tents and the lunch counters consisted of the 
sideboards of the wagons laid upon poles supported by 
forks driven in the ground. Meals were a uniform price, 
$1.00, but lodging was free. Just spread your blanket 
down on the grass anywhere and make yourself at 
home. 

Shasta City is two hundred miles up Sacramento 
River and a little northwest of Sacramento City. 
Knight's Landing, near the mouth of Feather River, was 
our first stop of any consequence. We went up Feather 
River to where Marysville now stands and thence in a 
northwesterly direction back into the Sacramento Val- 
ley. This valley is about an average of twenty-five 
miles in width and at that time there were no towns or 
even camps upon it and consequently I can give little 
account of our progress. I only recall that about every 
twenty miles we came upon a ranch occupied by a few 
families of Spaniards. These Spaniards had made 
slaves of the Digger Indians who lived in mounds or 
huts covered with earth. The Indians raised wheat 
and gathered it in cane baskets. They then rubbed the 
wheat out of the straw and beat it into flour. These In- 
dians went almost naked and lived, themselves, on sal- 
mon, acorns, grapes and grasshoppers. They were the 
most disgusting mortals I have ever seen in my life. 
When we passed the huts or mounds in which they 
lived, the pappooses would dart back into them exact- 
ly like prairie dogs. I asked an old Spaniard why .he 
kept these filthy Indians around him, and he said they 
protected him from the wild Indians. 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 45 

The whole valley was covered by abundant vege- 
tation and was full of wild herds of Spanish horses 
and thousands of wild Spanish cattle. It was also full 
of many savage wild animals, grizzly, brown and black 
bear, California lions, panthers, wolves, wild cats and 
badgers. There was an abundance also of elk, deer 
and antelope, and we never lacked for fresh venison. 

We reached Shasta late in September, and like 
Sacramento City, found everything but the city. One 
or two log cabins and a few tents made up the sum of 
all the improvements. We put in a few days looking 
over the situation and viewing prospects for getting 
gold and decided to spend the winter there. This made 
it necessary for us to look immediately into our stock 
of provisions, and upon going through it we found that 
we had hardly enough to last us. Nothing could be 
done but go back to Sacramento and secure an addi- 
tional supply, and brother William and a man by the 
name of Gleason, from Iowa, who had made the trip 
with us up the river, started back with one wagon and 
four yoke of oxen. We stretched our tent and stored 
all the provisions we had in it in such a way as to 
protect them, and brother William and Gleason bade 
us good by. 

This trip meant four hundred miles more of hard- 
ship and danger, and we hated very much to see them 
leave, but nothing else could be done. The boys made 
the trip down without trouble, so they reported upon 
their return, but on the way back the rainy season set 
in and swelled the rivers so that they were past fording 
much of the time. The trip ought to have been made 
easily in twenty-five or thirty days, but it occupied 
from the latter part of September until Christmas. 

Hard as this trip was upon the two who made it, 
their sufferings were hardly to be compared to the 



46 Recollections of a Pioneer 

condition of brother James and myself. We had but 
a small tent in which to shelter both ourselves and our 
provisions and such meagre equipment as we had 
hauled across the plains. We had been alone but a 
few days when brother James was taken down with 
the scurvy. About the 10th of October the rain set in 
and continued almost in a steady downpour for about 
three weeks. Everything was completely soaked. It 
was next to impossible to find fuel enough to start a 
fire. I had to take care of brother James and keep 
changing the provisions to prevent them from spoiling, 
had to dry the blankets and clothing three or four times 
a day. In all, I don't think I averaged more than two 
hours sleep out of the whole twenty-four during this 
period of continued rain. I battled along the best I 
could, and at the end of about three weeks it ceased 
to rain so hard. 

I shall never forget two friends who came to my 
rescue at this time — Charles Laffoon and Mike Cody. 
Both were from St. Louis and had run a dray on the 
wharf on the Mississippi River, they said. They had 
reached Shasta a few months ahead of us and had 
built a log cabin. On one side of this they attached a 
shed which they used for a cook room and the whole 
made, a very comfortable dwelling. Lately, however, 
a great many people had arrived and they had arrang- 
ed a bar at one end of the main cabin and fixed up 
some tables at the other for a poker game. Both 
of these enterprises proved good money makers and 
they were getting along fine. After it had been rain- 
ing three or four weeks, Mike came up to our tent one 
morning. He saw the trouble we were in and said we 
must not stay there. I told him I knew nothing else to 
do. He said he would arrange that all right; that he 
would make room for us in his cabin. He didn't even 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 47 

wait for an answer, but set to work packing things up. 
In a little while everything we had was moved under 
a roof. He fixed a bunk in the shed or cook room for 
my brother and brought some men up and carried him 
down and laid him on it. We used our own blankets 
of course, and I cooked our meals, but Mike and his 
partner took care of the rest of it. Everything was very 
quiet in the day time when the men were out working 
in the diggings, but at night things were mighty lively 
— drinking, gambling and fighting. We didn't mind all 
this, for it was so much better than the leaky old tent 
we had put up with for so long, and no kinder men 
ever lived than Mike Cody and Charles Laffoon. 

Brother William and Gleason got back on Christ- 
mas day, worn out themselves and their teams in worse 
condition. It was still raining. They had had a dread- 
ful time, high water, mud, rain and no shelter. They 
had to expose themselves in order to keep the pro- 
visions dry. 

A cabin, some distance away from the cluster of 
houses which was called the town, had been vacated, 
and we moved in, though I think Cody and Laffoon 
would have arranged in some way to accommodate all 
of us in their cabin had they thought we could do no 
better. The cabin was fairly comfortable. It had a 
good fire-place and a good roof, and these were the 
principal necessities. The weather was not very cold, 
but everything was so entirely saturated that fire was 
even more necessary than if the weather had been 
cold. We had room in the cabin for our cots and 
provisions, and we settled down about the first 
of January to spend the winter. We drove the cattle 
ten miles down the river to Redding's Ranch and 
turned them loose in his wild herd to graze until 
spring. About the middle of January, William took 



48 Recollections of a Pioneer 

the scurvy. James had improved very little, so I now 
had both of them on my hands. They both lay there 
unable to walk a step for three months. There was 
but little that could be done for them, but 1 had a great 
deal on my hands doing even that and was thankful 
that I had been spared from the disease myself, for 
if I had taken down we should all have been cast upon 
the generosity of the wild, rough men who made up 
that camp. 1 had no fear, however, but what we would 
be taken care of. During the latter part of the winter, 
I was taken with a light attack of the same disease. 
I was very much afraid it would become serious, but 
I did not get down. 1 could walk flat footed on my 
left foot, but had to tip-toe on my right, and all through 
the balance of the winter 1 did the cooking, provided 
the wood, and ran the errands, hobbling along the best 
I could. 

Besides this, we were somewhat troubled by fi- 
nances. Everything was going out and nothing coming 
in. Everybody at work making plenty of money, but 
we were compelled to stay in this cabin and spend what 
we had made. We were rich, however, in provisions. 
Had enough to last us a year and they were worth more 
than gold. 1 remember that flour was worth two hun- 
dred dollars a sack, and most everything else was in 
proportion. 

Late in March a doctor drifted into camp. He 
heard that we had sickness up at our cabin and came 
up. He looked my brothers over. He had no medicine 
and there was very little, if any, in the camp. He pre- 
scribed raw Irish potatoes sliced in vinegar. We had 
no potatoes. I went down to see if I could find them 
in camp. I hunted the place over and could not find 
any. I was going home discouraged when I met Mike 
Cody. I told him what 1 had been doing and he said 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 49 

if there was a potato in California, he would get it 
for me. Next morning a man brought a bushel up to 
our cabin and told us that was all the potatoes in that 
part of the country. I asked him what he wanted for 
them and he said they were paid for. When I asked 
him who paid him he said it was Mike Cody. I then 
asked what he got for them. He said seventy-five dol- 
lars. I took the potatoes and fixed them up as the doc- 
tor had told me and gave them to the boys. In a few 
days they began to mend and in two or three weeks 
were able to hobble about the cabin, and by the first 
of May they were well enough to take care of them- 
selves nicely. I hadn't forgotten Mike Cody in the mean- 
time. I went down one day and told Mike I wanted to 
settle for the potatoes and for the use of his cabin 
the early part of the winter. He said "You don't owe 
me anything for staying at the cabin and the potatoes 
were a present." Said if he could do anything else, 
just let him know. I thanked him the best I could, but 
he told me that he didn't want any thanks, and that I 
must not feel under obligation to him. He reminded 
me that on several occasions when he wanted to go 
out in town and have a good time, I had kept his 
bar and run his poker game for him, and said that 
paid for everything he had done for us. I knew that 
was only an excuse to keep me from feeling so much 
in debt to him, but I let it go at that and never lost an 
opportunity to show that I appreciated what he had 
done. 

I ought to mention, probably, my experiences as 
a bar-keeper and manager of a poker game on the few 
occasions when I was called upon to assume those 
responsible positions. The bar was a broad plank 
which rested upon supports and extended clear across 
one end of the cabin. The bottles of whiskey and bowls 



50 Recollections of a Pioneer 

of gold dust were kept on this plank. Mike sold noth- 
ing and had nothing to sell but whiskey. When a 
man wanted a drink he would hand me over his sack 
of gold dust. I poured out the price of a drink in 
the scale pan and put it over in the bowl. I then gave 
him his drink and handed him back his bag of gold 
dust. The poker game was not very hard to manage. 
The players had their rules and kept their guns close 
by to enforce them. This made everybody very cau- 
tious about observing the rules and seeing that a fair 
game was played. As long as the fellows remained 
sober I never saw any trouble over these games. Some- 
times a fellow would get drunk and try to start trouble 
and he usually succeeded. We generally saved the 
lives of such fellows by taking them immediately away 
and putting them to bed. 

About the 1st of May, Gleason, who had remained 
at the camp all winter, and I rigged up a couple of 
pack mules and went over to Trinity River, thirty 
miles west. There we found quite a prosperous camp 
where they were getting a good deal of gold. We each 
took up a claim and went to work, and got quite a 
quantity of gold. About the 1st of June, James and 
William, who by that time were able to ride horse- 
back, came over and they each took a claim. By the 
1st of August we had worked these claims pretty well 
out and decided to go on to Salmon River, forty miles 
farther west. While we were at Trinity River, Alfred 
Jack of near Camden Point, Platte County, came in 
and joined us. He decided to go on with us to Salmon 
River and we all packed up and started. The trip was 
without incident, except that over toward the end of 
our journey we came to an Indian village. We rode in 
toward the village and as we approached we saw the 
bucks all running away as fast as they could, leaving 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 51 

their squaws and pappooses behind. This was strange 
behavior and we wondered what it meant. When we 
got up to the village, we found a white horse which 
they had just shot full of arrows. This looked a little 
dangerous to us. We didn't know the meaning of this 
conduct and took it to be a sign .of war. We 
passed on through the village, hurried after the Indians 
and soon overtook them. We had our guns and plenty 
of ammunition and were pretty w^ell prepared for a fight 
with them, as against their bows and arrows, though 
they greatly outnumbered us. When they saw we were 
prepared for them and knowing as they did that we 
had not harmed their squaws and pappooses, they 
came and told us that they had run away because 
their dogs had run at sight of us. They didn't explain 
why they had shot the horse full of arrows, but I have 
always been of the opinion they intended to waylay 
and kill us if they could. 

We reached Salmon River late in the afternoon 
and camped for the night. Next morning we took our 
picks, shovels and pans and went out to look for gold 
and found it. By noon when we gathered back at the 
camp every man was satisfied to make permanent camp 
and remain a while. We were the first in this immedi- 
ate section of the country. Other parties were farther 
up the river and still others farther down the river, 
but we found no evidences at all that any white men 
had ever been in this particular place. We seemed to 
have a way of getting in ahead. We were in the lead 
across the plains, among the first to reach Sacra- 
mento, about the first at Shasta City, and Trinity River, 
and actually the first on Salmon River. We were not 
there long, however, until others began to come in, 
and in a short time all the available locations for placer 
mining were taken. We remained some six weeks, as 



52 Recollections of a Pioneer 

I recollect, on Salmon River and panned out quite a 
quantity of gold; enough to pay us well for the trip 
but hardly as much as we anticipated we would 
get when we left home, after hearing the reports 
that came to us. Still we were satisfied and now that 
we all had good health, had no complaint to make. 
Some one who came into our camp on Salmon River 
brought the word that our brothers were coming across 
the plains from Missouri, and would get in sometime 
in September. We decided to go back and meet them, 
so we broke camp and went back to Shasta City. Here 
we loaded our plunder into our own wagons which had 
been left during our absence, and after procuring 
our cattle from Redding's Ranch — so fat and sleek 
we could hardly recognize them, we set out down Sac- 
ramento River. The trip was made without incident. 
It was the dry season of the year. There was plenty 
of game, plenty for the cattle to eat, and no trouble 
about fording the river. While we were in camp one 
night at Knight's Landing, I put a sack of dried beef 
which we called "jerky," under the back part of my 
pillow to make sure the coyotes would not get it. In 
this I was mistaken, for sometime that night a coyote 
came up and helped himself and we had no jerky for 
breakfast. My slumbers were not disturbed in the least 
by the burglar. 

A little farther down the Sacramento River, while 
in camp one night, we were all awakened by an unu- 
sual noise. The camp fire was burning dimly and af- 
forded enough light for us to see, not twenty yards 
away, a huge grizzly bear. He was sniffing around 
picking up scraps of meat and bone which we had 
thrown away. There was a good deal of quiet excite- 
ment in the camp over the discovery of this guest, but 
fortunately everybody had sense enough to keep still. 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 53 

The old fellow prowled about the camp for a long 
time. Sometimes he would get right up by the fire 
and then we had a good look at him. He paid no atten- 
tion to us at all. Apparently didn't know we were in 
the neighborhood. At least if he knew it, he didn't 
let on. By and by, after satisfying himself that there 
were no more scraps, he walked slowly away and we 
could hear him rattling the bushes and crushing the 
dead limbs and sticks that lay upon the ground for a 
long distance. It was not until he had been out of 
hearing for quite a long time that anybody dared to 
speak, and then our first words to each other were of 
congratulation. We hadn't had very much experience 
with grizzly bears at that time and didn't know but 
what the old fellow might have attempted to piece 
out his meal on one of us. We were glad enough when 
he decided to go and hunt up some more bones and 
scraps and let us alone. 

We reached Sacramento City about September 
20th, and from there went up to Salmon Falls on the 
American River, where we found our brothers, Isaac, 
Zach and Robert, and quite a company of our Buchan- 
an County acquaintances — Calvin James, Charles Ram- 
sey and his family. Perry Jones, William Glenn, James 
Glenn, and some others whom I do not at this moment 
recall. Charles Ramsey's wife was the first white 
woman I had seen since I left St. Joseph, May 2nd, 
1849. 

It was a great joy to us to meet these old acquaint- 
ances and to feel that we were now not quite so lonely 
out in that wild country. We all remained in camp at 
Salmon Falls for several weeks. During this time the 
boys looked around to see what they had better do. 
Chas. Ramsey and Calvin James took up a ranch about 
thirty miles west of Sacramento River on Cash Creek. 



54 Recollections of a Pioneer 

The five brothers of us decided that the best thing we 
could do was to take up a ranch also. We went over in- 
to the same neighborhood and squatted on a body 
of land. There was no law prescribing any amount 
that each man could take, and the grazing land was 
held largely in common. We had a good bunch of 
cattle and horses of our own and emigrants were con- 
tinually offering their teams for sale. Isaac, Zach and 
Robert had brought considerable money out with them, 
and James, William and myself had practically all the 
gold we had cleaned up in mining, so we were in shape 
to begin the cattle business on a pretty good scale. By 
the first of December we had a fine herd of cattle, 
all branded with our particular brand, grazing on the 
pasture along Cash Creek. 

We built a cabin close to the cabin that James and 
Ramsey had put up, and staked out our ranch. There 
were five men in the James cabin and seven in ours — 
six Gibson brothers and Eli Wilson. The whole valley 
of Cash Creek as well as much of the valley of Sacra- 
mento River, was covered with wild oats. Red clover 
grew wild and there were many other grasses just as 
good for cattle. 

We had plenty of flour, sugar, coffee and such 
other common groceries as were to be had in the mar- 
kets at Sacramento. It had cost quite a sum of money 
to get these provisions — I do not remember just how 
much, but it was fabulous almost, and the only conso- 
lation we got was out of the fact that we didn't have 
to buy meat. We had our own cattle if we wanted 
beef, but there was no need even for that when venison 
was so plentiful. 

It must have been sometime during the first of 
December that we organized a hunt for the purpose 
of laying in a good supply of meat for the winter. We 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 55 

rigged up ten pack mules, went to the mountains a 
few miles distant and camped. From this camp we 
conducted our hunting expedition and in a few days 
had more than enough venison to last through the win- 
ter. We killed elk, deer and antelope enough to load 
our train. Part of this we took down to Sacramento 
and traded it for other provisions. We felt that we 
could get meat any time when we had to have it, but 
might not be able to get other provisions, and that an 
extra supply would make us feel more comfortable. 

The grazing was fine all through the winter. The 
climate, as every one knows, is not cold and the one 
discomfort was the continued rain, but this had its 
compensations. When the rivers and sloughs filled 
up with water, the wild ducks and wild geese came 
in to feed upon the wild oats. We had little to do but 
look after our cattle and think about what we would 
like to eat. If we decided in the morning to have 
duck or goose, some one took the gun, went out and 
brought back just what we had decided upon. The 
rivers were full of the finest fish and they were 
no trouble to catch at all, so when we wanted fish, it 
was at hand. I have never lived at any place in my life 
where I felt so sure of provisions as in that cabin 
during that winter. We had four large greyhounds 
that had come across the plains with some of the emi- 
grants and we picked them up as company We 
trained them to hunt bear — that is the bear soon train- 
ed them. It was no trouble to get them to trail bear. 
They seemed to do this by instinct, but seemed not al- 
ways to be sure of the kind of animal they were after. 
I judged this by watching them tackle the bear after 
they had overtaken it. They would dash in with as 
much confidence as if he were a jack rabbit or a coyote 
and showed plainly that they proposed to take him in 



56 Recollections of a Pioneer 

and annihilate him at once. They would also show a 
good deal of surprise when the old bear would rise up 
on his hind feet and box them ten feet away. They soon 
learned to keep their distance and play with the bear, 
keeping him standing on his hind feet, watching them 
until we could come up close enough to get a shot. 
That always ended it. Sometimes the bear would 
take to a tree. In either case we always got him. These 
dogs were great company for us. If we happened not 
to want any bear meat, we would take the dogs and 
chase jack-rabbits and coyotes. They were pretty 
swift dogs, but it was seldom that they could pick up 
a jack-rabbit, and rarely ever got a coyote on a straight 
run, but we had as much fun and more probably than 
if the dogs had been able to pick them up right along. 
Thus passed the winter of '50 and '51 — as pleasant a 
period as I recall during my whole life. By the spring 
and early summer of '51 our cattle were fat and fine 
and ready to be sold for beef. We peddled them out 
to the butchers and miners along the Sacramento and 
American Rivers. They brought us an average of one 
hundred and fifty dollars a head. By the first of July 
they were all gone and we began to look for emigrants' 
cattle to re-stock the ranch. We supposed that emi- 
gration across the plains would continue and in order 
to get first chance at cattle that might be for sale, we 
loaded up our pack mules, crossed the Sierra Nevada 
Mountains, and went down Carson River to Humboldt 
Desert. We were greatly surprised to find only a few 
straggling emigrant trains coming in and most of these 
were bent on settlement rather than mining and had 
brought their families. Of course, they had no cattle 
to sell. We waited until the latter part of July, and 
when we became convinced that no cattle were com- 
ing we had to determine the next best thing to do. 



Gold Mining in '49 and '50 57 

The grazing of cattle had proved so much more 
to our Hking than digging gold that we wanted to con- 
tinue in that business, but we couldn't do it without 
cattle. We thought about the thousands of cattle back 
in Missouri that might be had for ten or fifteen dollars 
a head, and decided to return across the plains and 
during the winter gather up a herd and take it back 
the following summer. This plan seemed to suit best. 
Brother William was not in the best of health and 
didn't feel equal to the task of crossing the plains, so 
it was agreed that he and Eli Wilson would stay with 
the ranch and take care of things during the year and 
that the rest of us would go back. 



CHAPTER IV. 
Back Across the Plains. 

It was now close to the first of August, 1851. We 
were camped at the western side of the fifty-mile 
desert which gave us so much trouble on our way over. 
We had packed provisions and equipment sufficient 
only to take us across the Sierra Nevada Mountains and 
back. We always allowed for emergency and put in 
plenty. The question now was whether we were well 
enough equipped to start on a long journey back across 
the plains. We made an inventory of our stock of pro- 
visions and supplies, and decided that we could make 
it. Brother William and Wilson took only a small 
quantity of supplies with them on their return journey. 
They were going into a country where plenty was to 
be found, and if they ran low, it would make no great 
difference. With us it was different. We had no as- 
surances that we could get supplies of any kind at 
any point on the journey, at least not until we reached 
the outposts near St. Joseph. 

As already related, we had carried our supplies 
from home on pack mules. We had no wagons or 
oxen with us and had to arrange to make the entire 
journey carrying our provisions and camp equipment 
on the mules. 

After getting everything ready we bade goodby 
to brother William and Wilson, and started early in 
the morning. We entered at once upon the fifty-mile 
desert and traveled that day and all the following 
night. Our mules made better progress than the ox 
teams, and we reached the Carson Sink a little after 
daylight where we found water. We also fell in with 



Back Across the Plains 59 

four men who said they had started to Salt Lake, but 
had heard from the passing emigrants that the Indians 
were on the war path ahead and were afraid to go 
any farther alone and were waiting for company. 
We had heard the same story, so concluded their ex- 
cuse for being there was a good one and that they had 
no designs upon unwary emigrants. We sized them all 
up and decided to take them into our company. Three 
of them were brothers whose names were Kilgore. The 
fourth was a German whose name I have forgotten. 
They all lived in Iowa. They seemed very much fright- 
ened at the idea of going on, and suggested that we 
wait for further reinforcements. We told them we 
had no time to waste and that we were going on and 
they could join us if they wanted to. They finally con- 
sented, rigged up their outfit and made ready. We 
traveled up the Humboldt River over the old road 
until we reached the head waters of that stream. 
There were three roads open to us from this point. 
One to Fort Hall on Snake River, a middle road which 
had been blazed since we came over, called Hedge- 
path's cut-off, and the South road to Salt Lake. We 
took the Salt Lake road, though it was new to all of us. 
We struck Bear River, about one hundred and fifty 
miles from Salt Lake, crossed it and traveled down 
the East side to Weaverville and then on to Ogden. 
Here we rested a few days and had our mules and 
horses shod. 

The day after we camped, Brigham Young paid us 
a visit. He asked us many questions, but we gave him 
little satisfaction. We had ten thousand dollars in 
gold with us and hadn't any confidence in the Mor- 
mons, so we kept close watch. A day or two after this, 
we took our mules and started to Salt Lake City. About 
twenty miles out on our journey we met a large ve- 



60 Recollections of a Pioneer 

hide drawn by eight big white horses, a driver on top, 
and a great many women and one man inside. I recog- 
nized the man as Brigham Young, but said nothing. 
A httle farther on we overtook a man in the road and 
I asked him who the man and all the women were that 
we had met back on the road. He said it was Brigham 
Young and twenty of his wives. 

We made a short stop at Salt Lake. There seemed 
to be but one road out of the valley in which the city 
is situated and that led us south about ten miles, thence 
east through a steep, rough canyon. It was at the mouth 
of that canyon where the Mormons later built the wall 
to resist the government soldiers. The road through the 
canyon led us finally to the top of a high range of 
mountains. Passing over this and down the eastern 
slope, we came to Ft. Bridger on Black Fork of Green 
River. We followed this stream down to the main 
prong of Black River and went thence northeasterly to 
Green River, thence up a prong of that river until we 
reached the divide at South Pass. Here, after four 
hundred miles over a strange road and over wild and 
rugged mountains and deserts, we came again to the 
Oregon Trail, and found a familiar road. 

This portion of the road is now familiar also to the 
reader. It led down Sweetwater, past Independence 
Rock and Devil's Gate to North Platte River. Just 
after we crossed the North Platte, we stopped for din- 
ner. We had eaten our meal and were resting when 
we saw what appeared to be a band of Indian ponies 
back across the river and about a mile away. We could 
not tell whether Indians were upon the ponies or not, 
but there was little doubt in our minds but that there 
were. We packed our mules hurriedly, saddled our 
horses, and started on and had made but a short dis- 
tance when three Indians came running up in our rear 



Back Across the Plains 61 

on foot. They had dodged out from behind a boulder 
somewhere along the road. They appeared to be quite 
friendly. They said "How, How," and pointed to the 
good grass along the road. By these signs we under- 
stood that they wanted us to camp and were recom- 
mending the place to us. All this time the ponies were 
getting closer to us and all doubt that Indians were upon 
them was removed. When the three saw that we were 
not going to stop, one of them grabbed the bit of the 
horse ridden by one of the Kilgore boys and attempted 
to hold it. Kilgore threw his gun down at the Indian, 
who loosed his hold and ran back. One of the three 
during this performance dropped behind and raised 
a sort of flag. At this the whole band of ponies start- 
ed towards us and every pony had a red-skin on his 
back lying close down to the pony's neck. They came 
galloping as fast as the ponies could carry them and 
in single file. As they came closer we saw that 
they were all painted up in war style with black 
feathers plaited in their hair. There must have been 
twenty-five or thirty of them, and there were nine of 
us — five Gibsons, three Kilgores, and the Dutchman. 
This Dutchman rode in a little cart while the rest of us 
were on horse-back. We had eight pack mules loaded 
with our camp equipment and provision, and they had 
to be taken care of. 

We put the pack mules abreast and pushed them 
directly ahead of us. The first Indians to reach us ap- 
peared to be very friendly, as if they could deceive 
anybody by that old ruse. They said "How, How," and 
appeared to be very anxious for our welfare. Their 
purpose in this, it was plain enough to see, was to al- 
low their companions all to come up. When the last 
of their party caught up they all set up a great yell 



62 Recollections of a Pioneer 

and made a dash to get between us and our pack mules. 
Every man in our company drew his navy and each 
man pointed at a different Indian. We had the drop 
on them. They had not drawn the guns which some 
of them had or the bows and arrows which others car- 
ried, and the first attempt to draw a weapon meant 
a dead Indian and they knew it, so they halted and fell 
back. As soon as they w^ere out of the way we moved 
up and formed a ring around the pack mules, facing 
outward. This seemed to please them wonderfully, 
for they started galloping around us, yelling and going 
through all manner of ferocious maneuvers, but ap- 
parently never getting in a position where they could 
draw a weapon. As soon as we had surrounded our 
mules, Zach and Robert slipped off their horses and 
coupled all the mules together. This would keep them 
from scattering out. In a moment the boys were back 
in their saddles and back in the ring facing outward. 
The Dutchman in his cart was outside of our ring. He 
was very much agitated for a time for fear he would 
get cut off from us and be taken by the Indians. He 
managed to dash in, however, and get right close to 
our line and stop his horse. This gave him a chance 
to get out his double barrel shot gun which he car- 
ried in the cart and get ready for action. 

This milling and yelling, around and around, must 
have kept up for ten or fifteen minutes. We didn't 
want to kill any of them, but we didn't propose they 
should get any advantage of us, and every man was 
on guard. Ry and by, Robert and Zach, who faced the 
road ahead, put spurs to their horses and broke 
through the ring, Robert turning on the Indians to the 
right and Zach to the left, each with a navy in each 
hand and the bridle reins in his mouth. This caused 
the Indians to break up the milling and hurry to the 



Back Across the Plains 63 

rear in order to keep their forces together. At the 
moment when they started back, two of our men put 
whip to the mules and forced them out through the 
gap as fast as they could gallop. The rest of us stood 
firm and steady, holding our guns on the Indians. We 
held them in this manner until the mules were well 
out of the way, then turned and galloped after them. 
We knew all the time that we had the Indians bluffed. 
They couldn't get any advantage of us and they would 
not fight in the open. They stood completely still af- 
ter we left them and continued to watch us as long 
as we were in sight. 

We made good haste that afternoon and traveled 
late. By 6:00 o'clock we were twenty-five miles away, 
and after supper we pressed forward until mid- 
night. We counted that this put us a safe distance 
away, but to make still more certain of our position, 
we rode off from the trail about a mile to camp. At 
daylight we were moving again and the next day at 
noon reached Ft. Laramie. Perhaps this haste and 
forced marching were all unnecessar}^ but in dealing 
with the Indians, it is a good idea to put just as much 
distance as you can between yourself and them. Ft. 
Laramie offered us the first real security we had known 
since we crossed the Continental Divide. The whole 
territory, especially between Platte River and Ft. Lara- 
mie, was infested with the worst bands of Indians then 
known to emigrants, and many trains had been rob- 
bed and the members killed on this portion of the 
journey. 

We found sixty thousand Indians at Ft. Laramie 
to draw their pay from the government. All were 
camped across the river north of the Fort. As we left 
Ft. Laramie we rode over and stopped for our mid-day 
meal. They gathered around us, made signs, tried to 



64 Recollections of a Pioneer 

swap ponies with us and pretended to be, and were in 
fact at that time, very friendly with us. I remember an 
amusing incident that occurred at this time. Brother 
Isaac had a httle Spanish mule which he offered to the 
Indians for a pony. The Indians asked if the mule was 
gentle. Isaac told them it was perfectly so, and in order 
to prove it, he jumped upon the mule bareback and 
with nothing but a halter to control it by. The mule 
had carried a pack all the way from Sacramento, but 
this was a new experience. He immediately bowed 
his back, stuck his head down between his knees, and 
began bucking. In a twinkle, Isaac was rolling ten 
feet away in the sand. I never saw anything give as 
much delight as this gave the Indians. They whooped 
and yelled and kept it up. Now and then it would 
subside and then break out again. We joined the In- 
dians and laughed as heartily as they; everybody en- 
joyed it but brother Isaac. It was like most funny 
things, no fun at all to somebody. 

About 2:00 o'clock we started down North Platte. 
The soldiers warned us to look out for scouting parties 
of Indians, and our own experience told us this was 
good advice. We met with no trouble, however, and 
reached the mouth of South Platte in good time. On 
this ride from Ft. Laramie to South Platte I think we 
must have seen hundreds of thousands of buffalo. 
They were so tame they would hardly give us the road. 
We had all the good buffalo beef we wanted every 
meal. A while before camping time, one of our party 
would ride ahead, pick out a good place where water 
and fuel could be had. He would then ride out to the 
closest buffalo herd, pick out a fat yearling, shoot it, 
and have it ready when we came up. It was short 
work to make a fire, make our bread, make the coffee 
and broil a fine buffalo steak. I have never enjoyed 



Back Across the Plains 65 

any meals in my life more than these. There was only 
one trouble about this method of getting our meat — 
the wolves kept us awake most of the night 
fighting over the carcass. In order to avoid this we 
usually dragged the carcass out of hearing of the camp. 
On the trip down from Ft. Laramie we noticed one 
day a great herd of buffalo far in front of us and a 
little to the right of the trail, which seemed to be graz- 
ing on the hillside in a circle. As we came nearer 
we made out the situation more clearly. Hundreds of 
them grazing, heads outward, formed a complete 
circle in which there must have been a thousand little 
calves all lying down. On the opposite hillside a half 
mile away, we saw about twenty savage wolves watch- 
ing the herd. The buffalo were watching also. They 
knew the wolves were there and they were protecting 
their calves against them. 

When we reached Ft. Kearney we learned that the 
Indians on Little Blue were on the war path, so kept 
on down Platte River fifty or sixty miles farther, and 
then passed across the country where Lincoln now 
stands, and reached the Missouri River at old Ft. Kear- 
ney, where Nebraska City is now situated. We crossed 
the Missouri River into Iowa and thence down the 
east side of the river. About the middle of the after- 
noon one day, we crossed the Missouri line, journeyed 
on to night, and went into camp without a guard, the 
first in three months. We passed Jackson's Point and 
Oregon, in Holt County, and reached Jimtown, Andrew 
County, where we stopped for the night with Drury 
Moore, a cousin of ours, and slept in a bed, the first in 
three years. Next day we reached home. 

We rode up, driving our pack mules loaded with 
blankets, bread pans, frying pans, coffee pots, tin cups, 
and sacks of provisions; hair and beard long and un- 



66 Recollections of a Pioneer 

kempt and tanned as brown as Indians. Mother, sister 
Mary and brother Isaac's wife were the only members 
of the family at home and they came out on the portico 
of the house to watch us. They were not expecting us 
for two years, and of course, thought the caravan they 
saw belonged to strangers. When we began climbing 
off our horses and fastening the pack mules to the 
fence, they fell back into the house. We hitched, got 
over the fence, and walked up to the door without be- 
ing recognized. In fact, we had a real hard time con- 
vincing them that we were really ourselves, and I am 
not very much surprised that they should not have 
known us. The dirt, sand, wind, sun and the grimy life 
we had led for more than six weeks without a shave 
or a hair cut was enough to disguise us. 

We reached home about the middle of September, 
1851. It was a delightful thing to be at home once 
more, but in order to carry out our plans we had little 
time to spare during this season of the year. Prairie 
hay grew in great quantities on the old farm and it 
was now in perfect condition to be cut and cured. We 
rested only a day or two, then sharpened up the scythes 
and went to work. We cut and cured twenty or thirty 
tons of this hay in order that we might have something 
to feed the cattle on as we collected them together. 
After this was done, we had a good long period of rest. 
Christmas came and we entered into the fun with the 
young folks. I think I shall never forget this winter 
at home. 

About the first of January, 1852, we began buying 
cattle and kept it up throughout the remainder of the 
winter. By the first of May we had five hundred and 
fifty head collected upon the old farm ready to start. 



CHAPTER V. 
Across the Plains With Cattle. 

The first days of May found us on the banks of 
the river at the mouth of Black Snake. Most of the 
men went along with the first load of cattle ferried 
across the river. As the cattle were driven out on the 
farther shore, the men corralled them and held them 
on a sand-bar to await the slow process of bringing 
the whole herd across. Elwood bottom at that time 
was a perfect wilderness of timber with only an Indian 
trail leading through it out as far as Peter's Creek. 
After much delay, the last of the herd was ferried over 
and then came the wagons, oxen, horses and mules. 

There were twenty-five men in charge of this 
drove of cattle. Each man had a horse, and besides 
this, we had a number of mules. We took three wagon 
loads of provisions and had four yoke of oxen to each 
wagon. This comprised the outfit. 

The Indians occupied the land on the Kansas side 
of the river and they came down to see us cross. They 
were peaceable and harmless, and did not mean to give 
us any trouble. They would come up close to the trail, 
and stand and stare at the cattle, and this was about 
as bad a thing as could have been done. I don't know 
why it is, but cattle never liked Indians. The whole 
herd would pass a white man without paying any at- 
tention to him, but if an Indian stood by the 
wayside where the cattle could see him, he would 
create a great commotion, and frequently, unless the 
greatest care was observed, a stampede would follow. 



68 Recollections of a Pioneer 

The cattle were not used to traveling, and we ex- 
perienced our greatest trouble the first week out. We 
had not only the Indians to contend with, but we had 
to break the cattle to drive, and the brush and timber 
were so thick that every man in the company had to be 
on the watch to keep from losing some of the herd. The 
men were as green as the cattle, and with all these hin- 
drances we made slow progress the first period of our 
journey. At the end of about a week or ten days, and 
after we had reached the high prairie, things began to 
settle down. The men learned their duties and the 
cattle had apparently been as apt as the men. They 
understood exactly what was before them when the 
start was made in the morning. One of our company 
always rode ahead and it was a pretty sight to see all 
the cattle break away from grazing and start out after 
this leader as soon as the men began to crack their 
whips and call to them. 

We made no haste. The grazing was good and the 
water plentiful, and we wanted our cattle to get in as 
good condition as possible before they reached the 
desert part of the journey. Ten or fifteen miles a day 
was counted a good day's drive. At this rate, there 
was plenty of time for grazing and rest. The new men 
with us were impatient to go faster, but those of us 
who had been over the journey knew too well the 
trials ahead to permit haste on this part of the 
road. We wanted to save our strength in order that 
we might make haste across the mountains and the 
alkali that lay between us and the end of our journey. 

At Little Blue we overtook a train lying in camp, 
and learned that Cholera had broken out, and that 
several deaths had occurred. An old man by the name 
of Frost came out to where we were and said he had 
been waiting for us; that he had heard we would 



Across the Plains with Cattle 69 

be on the road this year, and when misfortune and 
sickness overtook his train, he decided to wait for us. 
He Hved on Grand River, and his son had died of the 
Cholera, and we wanted to take the body back home. 
He said he had enough of the plains and didn't care to 
spend the remainder of his days amid such hardships. 
He had forty head of choice dairy cows and asked us 
to buy them. We told him we had no money for that 
purpose with us. He said he didn't want the money, 
if we would give him our note it would be good enough 
for him. We accordingly gave him a note for six hun- 
dred dollars and he turned his little herd over to us. 

Brother Isaac decided to return with Mr. Frost 
and wait until he heard from us, and if we succeeded 
in getting our cattle through without difficulty, he 
would bring another herd the next year. Within a 
week after Isaac left, brother William, who had made 
the trip home by way of Panama and New York, over- 
took us with a drove about equal in number to ours. 
We combined the two and all moved together, thence- 
forth throughout the journe}^ 

I may anticipate a little here and say that after 
arriving in California, we sent the money back to take 
up our note given for the forty cows. It reached our 
father and he communicated with Mr. Frost, paid him 
the money and took up the note. It was pretty slow 
business, but it was accomplished without difficulty. 

When the two herds of cattle and two companies 
of men were joined together, they made quite a cara- 
van. A good many Buchanan County boys made the 
trip with us, among them were James and Russell 
Deakins, Joe and Sebastian Kessler, Rufus Huffman 
and a man by the name of Streeter, who went along as 
cook in brother William's company. There were many 
others, but I cannot now recall their names. 



70 Recollections of a Pioneer 

We journeyed without incident that I now recall 
until we reached Plum Creek, which I have described 
in the account of my first trip out. Close to this place 
the wolves attacked our cattle one night and caught a 
fine cow and a heifer, and before we could relieve them 
tore their flanks so dreadfully that they both died. 
The bellowing of these two raised the whole herd and 
came near creating a stampede. It was a very 
dark night. The entire company got out upon horse- 
back and rounded up the cattle, and kept galloping 
around them the remainder of the night, firing their 
guns to frighten away the wolves. It is a wonder we 
didn't have more trouble with wolves than we did. 
The buffalo had all gone south and had not returned, 
and the wolves were savagely hungry and would attack 
most anything that offered them a chance of securing 
food. 

We kept our course on up the Platte, taking every 
protection against wolves and Indians, and finally 
reached a point just below the junction of the two 
rivers. Here we decided to try a new road. We would 
not go up the South Platte as we had gone on our pre- 
vious trip, but would cross the river and follow up the 
North Platte. We spent half a day sounding the 
bottom of the river and found we could cross by rais- 
ing our wagon beds about ten inches. The banks of 
the stream were low, but the water was running nearly 
bank full. By the middle of the afternoon we had the 
wagon beds all raised and the banks spaded down and 
ready for the start. We hitched ten yoke of cattle to 
one wagon and drove in with five men on horseback 
on each side of the cattle to keep them straight. This 
wagon crossed over in good shape and the oxen were 
driven back and a second wagon taken across the same 
way. As the last wagon crossed, we pushed the whole 



Across the Plains with Cattle 71 

drove of cattle, a thousand in all, after the wagon. The 
loose cattle traveled faster than the work cattle and 
began to bunch behind the wagon and around the oxen 
until we could not tell the work cattle from the loose 
ones, except by the yoke. The loose cattle crowded 
on, more and more of them gathering about the wagon 
until I began to think our work cattle as well as the 
wagon were in great danger. We took quick action to 
relieve the situation. I ordered fifteen or twenty of the 
boys to rush right in, and with their whips force the 
loose cattle away from the oxen. They cut and slashed, 
whooped and yelled, and finally got in alongside the 
wagon and the work cattle. They then forced the oxen 
as fast as they could to shore and drove them out safe- 
ly on the opposite bank. This left the loose cattle with- 
out any guide as to their course across the river. The 
current was running swiftly and the cattle wandered off 
down the river, sometimes getting beyond their depth 
and finally when they reached the bank, it was in many 
places so steep they could not climb out. It was a pret- 
ty serious situation for a little while, but by and by 
through hard work and much racing of the horses, we 
got them all out on the opposite shore and rounded 
them up about sundown. 

Next morning we started on our slow journey up 
North Platte and moved on day by day, passed Fort 
Laramie, and a few miles above it struck across 
the mountains along the old trail most of us had 
twice traveled. Scenes were familiar along this 
route by this time — Fremont's Peak in the distance 
to the north. Independence Rock and Devil's Gate, 
and farther on South Pass, which divides the waters 
of the Atlantic from the Pacific. 

Green River was past fording. A couple of men from 
the east somewhere had constructed their wagon beds 



72 Recollections of a Pioneer 

of sheet iron made in the shape of flat boats and had 
left home ahead of emigration and when they reached 
this river, unloaded and set their wagon beds on the 
river and were ready for business. They set our wagons 
over at five dollars per load, and we swam our horses 
and cattle after them. We chose the old trail over 
which we had gone in forty-nine, as better than the 
Hedgepeth cut-off, and so we passed Soda Springs and 
Fort Hall, thence down Snake River to mouth of Raft 
River, up Raft River and over the divide to the Hum- 
boldt, down the Humboldt, over the desert and across 
the Sierra Nevada Range, and down on the other side. 
Every spot seemed as familiar to me as my father's 
door yard, but the most vivid recollections came when 
I passed the old pine tree at Weaver Creek under which 
I lay sick for ten days in forty-nine. 

We crossed Sacramento River on a ferry at Sacra- 
mento City and went forty miles southwest into the 
Suisun Valley, nearer San Francisco Ray than our first 
ranch. We stopped a few days on Charles Ramsey's 
ranch until we could locate grazing land of our own. 
Ramsey was a son-in-law of Calvin James, and, as here- 
tofore related, had brought his family with my brothers 
on their trip out in 1850. He built a pre-emption house 
in a black-haw patch where Easton, Missouri, now 
stands. After his arrival in California in 1850, he took 
up a ranch in Suisun Valley and passed the remainder 
of his life there. 

After resting a few days at Ramsey's, brother 
James and I went back east about ten miles to Barker 
Valley and located a ranch, and returned for our cat- 
tle. Our first thought was of the cattle and after they 
had been provided for, we thought of ourselves. We 
put up a substantial cabin to shelter us from the rainy 
season, and then built a large corral by cutting posts 



Across the Plains with Cattle 73 

and setting them deep in the ground, and binding the 
tops together with rawhide. We then dug a deep ditch 
around it, after which we were sure it would hold a 
grizzly bear. Our ranch proved to be on land claimed 
by Barker, a Spaniard, who lived about ten miles away, 
but he gave us no trouble. He had a little village of 
Spaniards around him and about fifty Digger Indians 
who were his slaves. They were quite friendly, and we 
all worked together looking after the cattle. 

By the time all preparations had been made for 
winter, the season was pretty well advanced. Through 
it all, we had not had time to lay in a supply of venison 
for the winter or to enjoy a good hunt. After every- 
thing else had been done and we had rested a few 
days, we rigged up our pack mules and started for the 
mountains. I have already described the abundance 
of game in this country, and on this hunt we found no 
exception. Deer, antelope, elk and bear in plenty. We 
had to watch also for California lions, wolves and wild- 
cats. They were abundant also. We were gone on this 
hunt about a week. Had a camp in which we assem- 
bled over night and brought in the results of our day's 
work. It was great fun to sit about a big camp fire and 
re-count the experiences of the day. We secured all 
the venison we could possibly need for a long period 
of time, and with it set off to our cabin to spend a 
winter very much the same as we had spent a previous 
winter farther up the valley. 

Our only diversion was with the gun and the dogs. 
Wild fowl was still abundant, and we had the choicest 
meats whenever we wanted them. I remember dur- 
ing this winter that a large herd of elk were driven 
out of the swamp by the water, and into an open valley 
near our cabin. The dogs sighted them and made 
for them. They singled out a monster buck and 



74 Recollections of a Pioneer 

he took to the water to battle them. The dogs were 
plucky and swam in after him, but they had little 
chance, as the water was beyond their depth, while he 
could easily stand on the bottom. As the dogs would 
approach him, he would strike them with his front 
feet and plunger them under. We watched the pro- 
ceedings for a few minutes and soon saw that our 
dogs would all be drowned if we let the buck alone, 
so one of our boys rode in and shot him with his re- 
volver. We dragged him out and dressed him. He 
was a monster, and must have weighed as much as 800 
pounds. His antlers were the largest I have ever seen. 



CHAPTER VI. 
A Bear Hunt. 

By March, our cattle were fat, and we began 
marketing. A bunch of dairy cows shipped across 
San Francisco Bay to San Francisco brought 
two hundred dollars a head. A month later we took 
over one hundred beef cattle and sold them to Miller 
and Lucks for one hundred dollars per head, and at 
various intervals throughout the spring months, we 
culled out the fattest cattle still on hand and took them 
over, receiving for all of them prices ranging from sev- 
enty-five to one hundred and fifty dollars per head. 

Our plan was to stay in California during this sum- 
mer, and we congratulated ourselves that we were to 
escape the burning plains. We had very little to do, 
had plenty of money and plenty to eat, and I believe 
every man in the camp was pretty well satisfied with 
California. 

Late in the fall, as was our custom, we organized 
another hunt. I would not mention it but for an 
incident that occurred out in the mountains which 
may be interesting. The party consisted of my 
brothers, William, James and Zack, Joe and Barsh 
Kessler, and myself. We reached a good place to camp 
late one evening and pitched our tent. Some of the 
boys went to work about the camp, others took their 
guns and went out to look for camp meat and found 
it. One of the boys brought down a nice deer, and 
brought it in in time for supper. Next morning the 
party was up bright and early, and took off in various 
directions to look for game. We had not been separat- 
ed a half hour until I heard the guns popping in vari- 



76 Recollections of a Pioneer 

ous directions. I was crawling along the side of a 
gulch making my way up the mountain, and had con- 
cluded luck was against me. Shortly after I had made 
this reflection, I heard the sound of brother William's 
gun, which I knew very well, off to my right and 
across the canon. Then I heard a dreadful growling 
and howling and knew that William had wounded a 
bear. In a moment I heard a second shot, but the 
growling continued. I ran down the side of the gulch, 
crossed the ravine at the bottom, and started up the 
other side when I saw farther up the mountain a 
big grizzly making his way slowly along sniffing, 
growling and plowing through the wild oats that cover- 
ed the side of the mountain. I was satisfied it was the 
bear that William had wounded, and I knew it 
was not safe for me to get very close to him. However, 
I was then in safe quarters, and I decided to move on 
to a position where I could get a shot that would bring 
him down, and, if I could not do this, it was my plan to 
keep him in sight so I could direct William, who was on 
horseback, how to follow him. In passing through the 
brush and undergrowth, however, I lost sight of the 
bear. I stopped and listened, but could hear nothing. 
I was in fairly open ground and could see some dis- 
tance away, and as the bear was quite a distance ahead, 
I decided to move cautiously along. I really 
thought the bear had gone over the mountain. I mov- 
ed slowly and as I approached fairly well to- 
ward the top, I noticed a thick bunch of weeds off at 
a distance, but it did not occur to me that the bear 
had stopped there. However, I continued up the 
mountain, intending to leave the weeds to my left. 
I slipped along until I got opposite the weeds, and 
there to my great astonishment, I saw the bear 
not thirty yards from me. His eyes were set upon 



A Bear Hunt 77 

me and his hair all turned the wrong way. I then 
thought for the first time how indiscreet I had been. 
I had only one chance, and I took that in a hurry. 
I dropped my gun and started down the moun- 
tain for a scrubby tree which stood about sixty 
yards away. When I started to run the bear took af- 
ter me. I ran with all my might and as I passed under 
the tree, I jumped up and grabbed the lower Hmb and 
swung myself up. The bear came growling and plow- 
ing down the mountain, and raised on his hind feet, 
and grabbed my boot with one of his paws just as he 
passed under me, but the ground was so steep and his 
momentum was so great that it forced him on down 
the side of the mountain beyond me. This gave 
me time to go up the tree as high as I could, though 
it was so small that I could not feel veiy secure. The 
bear came back growling and snarling, and came up 
to the tree, stood up on his hind feet with his paws 
around the tree, and tried to reach me. I was not 
over five feet above him, but he could not reach me. 
I pulled off my hat and threw it upon the ground. 
He growled and fell back after it, and tore it all to 
pieces. This seemed to satisfy him for he did not come 
back to the tree any more, but stood looking around 
for a while and then walked away. He went on up the 
side of the mountain, perhaps a hundred yards, and 
crawled into a thicket of chapparal brush and laid 
down. I called WilHam as loud as I could but got no 
answer. I called again and again, and finally he heard 
me. The first thing he said was, "Look out, there is a 
wounded bear up there." I called back to him and 
told him it was gone, but he didn't understand me. He 
said, "Get back, get away from there, there is a wound- 
ed bear in the weed patch right by you." I answered 



78 Recollections of a Pioneer 

and told him to come on up, and he did so. He seem- 
ed surprised to see me in a tree, but I soon related my 
experience and pointed out the chapparal brush in 
which the bear was lying. 

I had had a pretty narrow call, but 1 was not 
willing to give up without the bear. The question was 
how could we get him. I would not risk getting down 
and walking up to the brush patch. One experience 
of that kind was enough. There was a tree standing 
a few yards from the thicket, and after looking the sit- 
uation over a while, I told William to go and ride be- 
tween the tree and the brush, and keep a close look- 
out, and I would get down, run to the tree, climb it, 
and go out on a limb that extended toward the brush 
where I thought perhaps I could see to get a shot. He 
said it was a little dangerous, but I told him I was will- 
ing to give the old bear a dare anyway, that he had 
caught me off my guard the first time. We waited 
quite a long time and heard nothing from the bear, so 
William concluded to try it. He rode around up the 
side of the mountain between the brush and the tree, 
and made considerable noise, but the bear lay still. 
He called me, and I climbed down, ran as hard as I 
could, and was soon up the other tree and out of 
danger. This was a large tree and gave me plenty of 
protection. After I was well up the tree, 1 pointed out 
where I had dropped my gun and William went and 
got it. He said he had hard work to find it, as it was 
almost covered with wild oats straw and dust which 
the bear had dragged over it in his chase after me. 
The gun was father's old Tennessee rifle and as true 
a weapon as I ever used. 

William handed the gun up to me and I examined 
it to see if it was all right. I then climbed high up in 
the tree and went out on the limb that extended toward 



A Bear Hunt 79 

the brush. From this point I had a good view down 
into the thicket and I soon located the bear. I laid my 
gun across a limb and drew a bead on his head. At 
the crack of the gun he straightened out and began to 
tremble and kick, and I knew the fight was over. His 
struggles dislodged him from his position on the steep 
mountain side and he tumbled over and over down 
the slant to the bottom of the gulch. He looked as 
big as an ox, but not half so dreadful to me as when I 
was scampering away from him an hour before. 

We dressed him and went to camp. The other 
boys were there and each had a story to tell. Ours 
was of big game and easily carried away the honors. 

We put in a week or more at this camp and had 
a good time and got any quantity of venison. Every- 
thing was so free, the air and water were so pure, and 
the wild tent life so fascinating that I often think of 
those days with delight. 

Shortly after our return from this hunt, Joe Kessler 
and I loaded our pack mules and started back across 
the Sierra Nevada Mountains to meet brother Isaac, who 
was about due with his drove of cattle from across the 
plains. We had heard nothing from him since he left 
us the summer before, but he had told us he expected 
to get a herd of cattle and come. We met him on 
Carson River, and as I recall now, there were a number 
of Buchanan County boys with him— Wilham James, 
John Sweeney and John Bridgeman were three that I 
recall. They had some eight hundred or a thousand 
cattle, and had crossed the plains without any very 
great difficulty, except the suffering and hardship from 
the drouth and alkah which could always be expected. 
We got the cattle across the mountains and on the 
ranch without difficulty and turned the poor things 
out to rest and get fat. 



80 Recollections of a Pioneer 

We remained on the ranch and in the cabin until 
everybody was well rested and then Bridgeman and 
the other boys who had come out with Isaac, began to 
talk about a hunt. They had heard our bear and deer 
stories and wanted some experience of their own. 

I must tell one thing that occurred on a hunt that 
was planned for these boys especially, although I have 
previously related at considerable length my hunting 
experiences. We had been out in the camp a day or 
two and had not had much luck, especially with bear; 
but one afternoon while we were all moving along 
pretty close together and somewhat contrary to our 
ordinary methods of hunting, we ran on to two brown 
bears just as they were going into a dense thicket 
covering about twenty acres of ground. We had no 
chance to get a shot before they went in. We immedi- 
ately surrounded the thicket and posted men at con- 
venient distances apart, and began an effort to dislodge 
them. In spite of the danger of doing so, some of the 
boys went into the thicket and made a great noise 
which drove the bears to the farther side and 
gave the boys on that side a fair chance for a 
shot, but they did not get them and the bears ran back 
into the thicket. The same tactics drove them from 
one side of the thicket to the other for an hour or 
more, and nobody was able to make a telling shot. By 
and by both got away, and everybody was deeply 
chagrined — especially the boys who were out for the 
first time. 

We moved away from the thicket and down 
the mountain side, all still much excited, and 
stopped to rest in a little glade that was almost com- 
pletely surrounded by thick brush. There was not a 
loaded gun in the crowd. As we sat there talking, a 
grizzly bear that looked as big as an old gray mule. 



A Bear Hunt 81 

walked out of the brush not twenty steps away. He 
raised up on his hind feet with his paws hanging down 
to his sides, dropped his lip and showed his teeth. I 
don't think I ever saw a crowd of men so badly scared. 
They jumped and ran in every direction. The closest 
tree stood between where we were sitting and the bear. 
Sweeney made for it. 

He was beside himself. He tried to climb the tree 
but lost his hold and fell back. He tried again, but the 
tree had a smooth trunk and he slipped again. He 
slid down until he sat flat upon the ground with his 
arms and legs locked around the tree. Here he lost 
his head completely. His desire to get up the tree had 
evidently placed him there in his own imagination, for 
he called out: "Hand me my gun up here! Hand me 
my gun up here!" He then said, "Why in the hell 
don't you boys climb a tree?" 

I stood perfectly still and kept my eye on the bear. 
I soon saw there was no danger in him; that he was as 
badly scared as we were. He stood a moment, dropped 
on his four paws to the ground, wheeled and went 
tearing back through the brush. I told the boys he 
couldn't understand what they were doing and took 
their conduct to be preparation for a great fight, and 
that I didn't blame him for getting scared. If the 
devil himself had seen them and hadn't understood that 
they were scared, it would have frightened him. 

When we got over our scare, we loaded our guns 
carefully and started for camp. The boys were still 
excited and as we passed over the stream which flowed 
at the bottom of the canon, we saw where a bear had 
apparently, but a few minutes before been wallowing 
in the mud and water. The mountain sides were steep 
and rough and covered with brush, and our boys after 
their recent fright, were in almost as much terror at 



82 Recollections of a Pioneer 

this evidence of nearness to a bear as they were when 
they could actually see him. The experienced mem- 
bers of the party looked into the situation for a mo- 
ment and decided that we would probably get this 
gentleman. We climbed back up the canon, every now 
and then loosening a big rock and rolling it down 
through the brush. By and by we routed out a brown 
bear. He started up the mountain on the opposite 
side of the gulch and in plain view. I gave him a 
sample of what my Tennessee rifle could do and sent 
him rolling back to the bottom of the gulch ready to 
be dressed. 

We remained in camp a week or two on this hunt 
and everybody, as usual, enjoyed it. We went back to 
the cabin where six Gibson brothers lived together. 
The cattle were little trouble, and there was 
nothing to do most of the time but loaf, and this didn't 
suit us after so much activity. We soon began to 
plan for the succeeding year. The cattle were not 
much trouble and two men could easily take care of 
them. James, Zack, Robert and myself volunteered to 
return to Missouri and bring another herd out next 
year, leaving William and Isaac in charge while we 
were gone. 



CHAPTER VII. 
Home by way of Panama and New York. 

About the first of November, the four of us left 
the ranch for San Francisco. There we bought four 
tickets for New York for eight hundred dollars, and 
each man belted a thousand dollars in twenty-dollar 
gold pieces around him. Our ship was the John L. 
Stephens, and carried about a thousand passengers, 
besides a large quantity of freight. It was my first ex- 
perience on the water, and as we sailed out through 
the golden gate and into the open sea, I had many mis- 
givings and wished myself back upon the plains among 
the Indians. But in a little while I grew accustomed 
to life on the ship and really enjoyed the whole trip. 
At some point on the coast of Old Mexico the ship an- 
chored and took on board a drove of beef cattle, and 
that was the only stop between San Francisco and Pan- 
ama. 

When we reached Panama the ship anchored 
about a mile from shore and little black natives row- 
ed out in small boats to carry the passengers in. 
When the boats reached the side of the ship, they were 
hoisted by ropes to a level with the deck, loaded with 
passengers and lowered again to the water. The na- 
tives grabbed the oars and away we went. All pas- 
sengers remained in Panama over night, and next 
morning a train of pack mules was lined up for the 
overland trip. We rode twenty miles on mules to the 
Charges River, then down the river in boats twelve 
miles and then eight miles by railway to Aspinwall. 
The ship, George Law, was waiting for us, but it re- 
quired two days to get all the passengers and baggage 



84 Recollections of a Pioneer 

across the isthmus and loaded. During that time we 
remained in Aspinwall. It was a wonder to me that 
the task could be finished so quickly. There were a 
thousand passengers — many women and children — and 
the sick who had to be carried on stretchers by the na- 
tives twenty miles over the mountain to Charges River. 
Besides, the road was a mere pack trail through rocks 
and cliffs, often very steep and very rough. To make 
the task more difficult, the passengers of the George 
Law — about as many as were on the John L. Stephens — 
were making the trip in the opposite direction to take 
our ship back to California. Those were busy days for 
the natives. 

The George Law steamed right up to shore against 
a rock bluff and the passengers walked directly over 
the gang plank on to the ship. When all was read}^ 
the seamen hauled in the cables and we sailed for New 
York. The sea was very rough all the way — that is, it 
seemed so to us. We landed at Key West, but re- 
mained there only a few hours and stopped next time 
at New York City. As the passengers started for shore 
the captain told them to look out for their pocket books. 
We had done that back in San Francisco when we put 
on our belts. 

Our first thought on landing was clothing. We 
were dressed for summer time, as the climate we had 
been in required, but it was winter in New York, with 
deep snow on the ground. The afternoon after land- 
ing saw us duly provided with plenty of warm cloth- 
ing and tickets by railroad and boat to St. Louis — rail- 
road by way of Buffalo, Toledo and Chicago to Quincy, 
and from Quincy to St. Louis by boat. At St. Louis 
brother Robert was taken sick and we all remained 
there a week. The usual course from St. Louis home 
was by stage, but we met a man named Andrew Jack- 



Home via Panama and New York 85 

son from Holt County, who told us if we would pay 
him stage fare — twenty-five dollars each — he would 
buy a span of mules and a carriage and drive us through 
— as he needed both the mules and the carriage at 
home. This arrangement was made and we left St. 
Louis about the middle of December. The weather 
was very cold, snow a foot deep or more, and the roads 
very rough in many places. One pleasant thing about 
the trip was that we always had good, warm lodging 
places for the night along the road. Towns were close 
enough together to enable us usually to reach one of 
them and put up at the tavern, but if we failed in this, 
we always found good treatment at the farm houses 
by the way. 

A few miles west of Keytesville, Chariton County, 
we put up one night with a man named Tom Allen, 
who had a hundred head of steers ranging from two 
to four years old. They were exactly what we wanted, 
but were so far from our starting point that we were 
uncertain whether we could take them. He asked 
three thousand dollars for the herd. Next morning 
we looked them over carefully, and told him if he 
would keep them until the first of April we would 
take them. He agreed to this and we paid him a thous- 
and dollars down and continued our journey. He was 
a complete stranger to us and we to him, but in those 
days men seemed to have more confidence in one an- 
other. No writing of any kind was entered into and 
we felt not the slightest uneasiness about getting the 
cattle. 

We reached home Christmas day, 1853, having 
made the trip in less than two months. 



CHAPTER VIII. 
Another trip across the plains with cattle. 

From Christmas until the middle of March, 1854, 
the time passed rapidly, with mother and father and 
with visits to old friends and acquaintances. On April 
first, according to contract, we arrived at Tom Allen's 
in Chariton County, and paid him the balance of two 
thousand dollars — in gold — and got our hundred head 
of cattle, all in good condition. As we passed Bruns- 
wick, we bought one hundred more and attempted to 
ferry the whole herd across Grand River in a flat-boat. 
We cut off a bunch and drove them down the bank 
on to the boat. They all ran to the farther end of the 
boat and sunk it, and the cattle went head foremost 
into the water. All swam back to the same shore, 
but one steer. He swam to the other side and ran 
out into the brush. We could do nothing but watch 
him go and gave him up for lost. A strange thing hap- 
pened in regard to that steer. Just a year later, I 
found him on our ranch in California — the same 
marks and the same brand, besides my recollection 
of him. There could be no mistake about it. I can 
account for his presence there easily, for at that time 
many men were driving cattle across the plains. Some 
one found him and drove him along and, after arriv- 
ing, as ranches were large and unfenced, he wander- 
ed with other cattle up into our ranch. 

After the unsuccessful attempt to ferry the cattle 
over the river we changed our plan and drove them 
twenty miles up the river to a point where it could 
be forded. Passed Carrollton where we picked up a 
few more cattle, and came on up to John Wilson's in 



Another Trip Across the Plains with Cattle 87 

Clay County, gathering a few here and there until we 
had three hundred head. Wilson had a herd of one 
hundred which we bought. These four hundred with 
two hundred purchased around home completed the 
herd. By the last day of April we had six hundred 
head in father's pasture at home, thirty head of horses 
and mules, two wagons loaded with provisions — four 
yoke of cattle to each wagon — and twenty men employ- 
ed to go with us. As we laid the pasture fence down 
to let that drove of cattle out into the wide world, 
every man had to be on his guard. It was a timbered, 
brushy country and very hard to drive the cattle with- 
out losing them. There were probably fifty of our 
neighbors on hand to see us start — many of them on 
horse-back — and they gave us much assistance. By two 
o'clock next day we had everything across the river at 
St. Joe and the cattle herded on a sandbar above 
where Elwood now stands. After starting off the sand- 
bar we had the same trouble in the heavy timber and 
with the Indians that we experienced on the first trip, 
but finally got out on the high plains with horses, cat- 
tle and men fairly well trained, and then considered 
our hard work finished, although two thousand 
miles of plains and mountains were ahead. 

Brothers James, Zack and Robert all started to ac- 
company me on this trip, but, as it was unnecessary to 
have so many along, James and Robert returned after 
we had reached Big Blue, to gather up a herd for the 
following summer, and Zack and I continued the jour- 
ney. I was considerably older than Zack, and the 
principal responsibility fell to me. The cattle were 
very valuable, but, in addition to that, I felt in a meas- 
ure responsible for the lives of the thirty persons who 



88 Recollections of a Pioneer 

accompanied the train — at least, in any conflict with 
Indians, I would be depended upon for counsel and 
guidance. 

I shall not attempt to give the details of this trip. 
The road is now familiar to the reader, and I hope also 
that, by this time, he can appreciate the tediousness of 
such a journey. He may be aided in this if I say here 
that we hadn't a pound of grain or hay with us, either 
for the horses and work cattle or for the herd, but all 
of them had to subsist by grazing. It was impossible, 
therefore, to make more than a few miles a day and 
it was only by determined persistence and a display 
of patience that I cannot describe, that we ever ac- 
complished the journey. There are a few incidents, 
which, in addition to the ordinary hardships, served to 
make the trip still more tedious and trying, and these 
I will mention. 

One night we camped on a high, rolling prairie 
out beyond Little Blue. The cattle were grazing peace- 
fully and the horses and mules — except those used by 
brother Zack and myself and by the guards — had been 
picketed out, and everybody in camp was asleep. One 
of the mules pulled up his picket stake and dragged it 
at the end of a long rope through the camp and caught 
the picket stake in the bow of an ox-yoke. This fright- 
ened the mule and he ran into the herd of cattle still 
dragging the yoke. A stampede followed. Work cat- 
tle, horses and mules — everything — and the noise sound- 
ed like an earthquake. The guards could not hold 
the cattle at all. Zack and I, who kept our horses sad- 
dled and bridled and tied to a wagon, were out in a 
moment, but we could give little assistance to the two 
guards in managing the crazy cattle, and the other men 
could not come to us for their horses had gone with 
the cyclone. It was very dark and our only guide to 



Another Trip Across the Plains with Cattle 89 

the location of the cattle was the roar of the ground. 
After a race of a few miles the roar ceased and we 
knew the cattle had checked. We rode in front of 
them and held them until daylight. They were badly 
scattered and exposed to wolves and Indians. It was 
twelve o'clock next day before we got them rounded up 
and ready to start forward. All the cattle and horses 
were found, but one of our mules was missing. No trace 
of him could be found anywhere, so we left him alone 
somewhere on those plains for the Indians or the 
wolves, or possibly, for a succeeding emigrant train. 

Day by day and week by week the journey con- 
tinued without incident, until we reached a point high 
up on the North Platte. We camped one night upon the 
banks of a small stream that emptied into the Platte, 
and during the night a terrific hail storm came up. 
Shortly after it broke upon us, one of the guards came 
and said the cattle had gone with the hail storm, and 
the guards could do nothing with them. Several of us 
were on our horses and after them at once. A flash of 
lightning now and then helped us to find the main 
bunch, which we rounded up on a sand-bar in Platte 
River. No more sleep that night. When daylight came 
the hail lay two inches deep on the ground. I never 
experienced such a hail storm in my life, and it is my 
opinion that but few like it have ever visited this coun- 
try. 

The count that morning showed thirteen cattle 
missing. For fear of a mistake we went forward and 
strung them out between us and counted again. Still 
thirteen short. To leave them without further effort was 
out of the question, so I picked five men — James and 
Russell Deakins, Joshua Gidlett, Buchanan County 
boys, and Tom Sherman and Henry Marks, two boys 
from Boston who joined our train at St. Joseph, and, 



90 Recollections of a Pioneer 

with our guns and blankets and a small amount of pro- 
visions, started back to circle the camp and look for 
tracks leading away. I thought the Indians had them 
and told the boys we would likely have to fight, but all 
were willing to go. Zack was to move the train slow- 
ly forward until he heard from us. 

We did not search long after reaching the place 
where the cattle had been grazing when the storm 
came up, until we found tracks leading to the north, 
and by appearances we were able to conclude that 
there were just about the number we had lost in the 
bunch that had been driven away. We followed the 
tracks a few miles, looking all the time for Indian 
tracks and pony tracks, and could see neither, but 
there were numbers of what appeared to be dog tracks. 
This suggested wolves, and I began to look closely at 
the tracks made by the cattle. Going up the sides of 
the sand hills the cattle seemed to remain together, 
but going down they would separate and run, and on 
level ground would get together again and all circle 
around and wander back and forth. At such times 
we had great difficulty in tracing them. The move- 
ments of the cattle convinced me that wolves were af- 
ter them. 

The tracks led us to the north about ten miles 
and then turned westwardly. We had followed in that 
direction about five miles when night came. As soon 
as it grew so dark we could not see the tracks, we 
staked out our horses, ate a lunch and spread our 
blankets down on the ground. We rested, but slept 
little. We had seen no Indians, but did not know how 
many had seen us, and might be following us. Two 
stood guard at a time while the other three lay on the 
ground in the darkness with their eyes wide open. At 
daybreak we were up, and as soon as it was light were 



Another Trip Across the Plains with Cattle 91 

on the trail again. Some miles on the tracks turned 
south, and this gave us courage, as Platte River and the 
emigrant road lay that way, but the wolves still had 
our cattle. The tracks led us on and on and finally 
up the side of a high range of sand hills, from the top 
of which we could see the valley of North Platte and 
the river far in the distance. We followed down the 
opposite side into the valley, and when within about 
two miles of the river I saw a bunch of cattle lying 
down near the bank. I was confident they were our 
cattle, unless other emigrants had lost a bunch in the 
storm, which was not probable. We hurried on and 
when within half a mile of the cattle found a carcass 
lying in the high grass and twelve or fifteen savage 
old wolves lying near by asleep. We pulled our navies 
and waked them up with bullets — killed three and 
wounded several others. We then rode on and found 
that the cattle were ours — twelve of them. A three 
year old heifer missing — the carcass we had found. 
The cattle were sore and gaunt, but otherwise unhurt. 
We pulled the saddles off our horses and staked them 
out to graze and lay down for a little rest. We had 
been gone from camp twenty-four hours, had had but 
two scanty meals and were probably twenty-five or 
thirty miles farther up the trail than the camp we left. 
Our train had not passed, as there were no fresh tracks 
on the trail, and we decided to endure our hunger and 
rest awhile before starting to meet it. In about an 
hour, however, I looked down the valley and saw the 
train moving slowly along. It reached us just about 
noon and all were greatly rejoiced. The noon meal 
was prepared and I think my tin cup of coffee was 
the best I ever drank. 



92 Recollections of a Pioneer 

The train moved on without incident until we 
reached a point on North Platte some seventy-five 
miles above Fort Laramie, where a spur of the moun- 
tain, or rather a very high bluff, prevented us from 
following the river, as had been our purpose on this 
trip, and forced us across ten miles or more of rocky, 
mountainous country. When I entered my train upon 
that part of the journey I calculated there would be no 
obstruction, as no emigrants were ahead that I had 
heard of, and I knew no cattle trains were ahead of 
us. I rode in front always and the lead cattle follow- 
ed close to my horse's heels. Always the same cat- 
tle, three or four in every herd, insisted on being in 
front, and if left in the rear as the train started out in 
the morning, they would crowd through the herd and be 
in front within an hour; then came the whole drove 
and then the wagons, followed by the loose horses and 
mules. Strung out in this fashion we started across this 
portion of the road, which in many places permitted 
only one wagon and team and not more than four cattle 
side by side. I led the long, winding string to the top of a 
mountain, and from that point I could see a line of 
dark objects a quarter of a mile long approaching us. 
I looked closely and determined it was Indians, and 
passed word to that effect back along the line. The 
men rushed to the wagons and got their guns, and by 
the time th^y had returned to their places I had made 
out that the Indians were moving and that we need not 
fear attack, as Indians never fight when the squaws 
and pappooses are along, but I was surprised at the lit- 
tle comfort I received out of that assurance. The puzzle 
to me was how to meet and pass them without stam- 
peding the cattle. Cattle do not like Indians. They do 
not like their looks and they do not like their smell, 
and it is hard work to get them to pass a band of In- 



Another Trip Across the Plains with Cattle 93 

dians on the broad prairie where they have plenty of 
room to shy. To pass on this narrow road was out of 
the question. I stopped to think and to look. Some 
distance ahead, but closer to us than the Indians, I saw 
what appeared to be a cove or basin, almost complete- 
ly surrounded by high bluffs and opening upon the 
road. I rode hurriedly forward, beckoning the men 
at the same time to push the cattle after me. When 
I reached the mouth of the basin I stopped and 
turned the cattle into it. Little more than half the 
herd had gone in when the Indians came up. The 
cattle began to hoist their heads and shy, but the 
Indians did not stop. I rode back a few paces and 
met them, bowed and said "how-do" as friendly 
as I knew how, and made signs that I wanted 
them to stop. They seemed not to understand until 
I pointed to the cattle, still hoisting heads and tails, 
and when crowded forward, jumping to the side and 
running into the basin. When they saw this the whole 
train stopped. Our cattle and wagons and loose horses 
all came up and turned in— the men standing along the 
roadside to see the Indians pass in their turn. When 
everything was safely lodged in the receptacle, which 
it seemed to me Providence had designed for just such 
an emergency, I turned, took off my hat and bowed 
long and low and rode aside. The Indians bowed in 
return and passed on. We stood by the roadside and 
saw the whole caravan pass. There were probably five 
or six hundred of them— a tribe of the Crows. The 
long tent poles were tied one on each side of a pony, 
the ends dragging on the ground behind with a plat- 
form or base joining them, on which the tents and 
skins and such rude camp equipment as they had were 
piled. The shorter tent poles were tied one on each 
side of a dog, with baskets resting on the rear ends in 



94 Recollections of a Pioneer 

which the pappooses were hauled or dragged along. 
Everything turned loose — not a halter or strap on dog 
or pony — all herded or driven like cattle. They were 
nearly an hour in passing us, and the men who were 
on the plains for the first time thought it an amusing 
experience. It required but a short time, after the 
movers had passed, to get our cattle out and start them 
on the road again, and, by night, we had passed over 
the mountains and were back on the river. A double 
guard kept watch that night, as we feared a band of the 
bucks that had passed us might come back and try 
to get some of our cattle, but the moon shone very 
bright, and as our whole force had stood by the road- 
side with guns across their saddles, they probably 
thought such an attempt would be useless. 

Our train moved on slowly, passed Independence 
Rock and over the continental divide and down into 
Green River Valley. When we reached Green River we 
rounded the cattle upon a sandbar and forced them 
all into the water at once. They got to milling around 
and round and going down the swift current, until we 
thought they would make the rest of the journey by 
water, but they soon found the water too cold for their 
enjoyment and headed for the farther shore. All got 
out but one. 

We took Hedgepeth's cut-off and reached the head 
waters of Humboldt without difficulty, thence down this 
river mile after mile, through sage brush and 
grease wood and alkali shoe mouth deep. As the cattle 
passed, a dense, black cloud rose above them, almost 
stifling men, horses and cattle. At night the men were 
black as negroes and complained of sore throat and 
sore lungs, but there was no escape. Rig Meadows, as 
I have heretofore described it, afforded a delightful 
resting place just between the dense alkali and the 



Another Trip Across the Plains with Cattle 95 

sixty-mile desert. But for this oasis, I may call it, 
where rest and food and water could be had, it is 
doubtful if herds could have been taken across the 
plains. Certainly a different trail would have been 
required. 

With all our precautions the trip across the sixty- 
mile desert was a very hard one. The weather was hot. 
Not a drop of water nor a blade of grass for thirty 
hours. When the cattle caught sight of Carson River late 
one afternoon they went wild. No power could hold 
them. They ran headlong into the river and next morn- 
ing five were dead. After the long march across the sand 
and alkali, the trip up Carson River and over the Sierre 
Nevada mountains was an easy one, and we made it 
without difficulty. Going down the opposite side we 
had to pass through great forests of pine timber, and 
the cattle, after being so long upon the treeless plains, 
seemed not to understand this and gave a great deal of 
trouble. One night we camped near Leake Springs 
in a heavy body of pine, quieted the cattle and had 
them all lying down, as we thought, for the night. 
Something frightened them, and away they started, 
right across our camp and back toward the top of the 
mountain. At the first sound of the stampede we 
jumped to our feet, whooped and yelled, threw our 
blankets in their faces and tried in every way to stop 
them, but they paid no attention and came crashing on 
through the brush. We were compelled to get behind 
trees to protect ourselves, and after the tornado of cattle 
had passed, gathered our horses and took after them. 
They were all strung out on the road, running as fast as 
they could, and we had to pass them by making our poor 
jaded horses outrun them. It was no easy task, and 
the leaders of the bolt for home were some fifteen 
miles away before we overtook and passed them. It 



96 Recollections of a Pioneer 

was almost daylight when we succeeded in doing this, 
and it required most of next day to gather all of them 
up and get back to camp. Not a man had a morsel to 
eat until we returned to camp. We decided to keep 
moving slowly throughout the entire succeeding night, 
as the best means of preventing another stampede and 
in order to get out of the timbered mountains and into 
the valley where the cattle were not so apt to get ex- 
cited. Early next day we reached the valley and 
stopped. Horses, men and cattle took a good rest. 
This stampede jaded both horses and cattle more than 
crossing the sixty-mile desert, hard as that was. 

After a day's rest we pulled on and passed through 
the mining district of Weaver Creek and American 
River, and reached Sacramento River at Sacramento 
City, crossed the river on a ferry and camped for the 
night on the farther bank. No guard out that night — 
the first in four months — and the boys went up to see 
the sights of the town. Human tongue can hardly tell 
the relief I felt when I could lie down and 
sleep without fear of Indians or wolves or stampedes. 
A better set of men than I had with me never crossed 
the plains, always ready for duty and to help me out of 
trouble. It was about thirty miles out to our ranch and 
I told the boys if they would go out with me I would 
board them as long as they wanted to stay. About half 
of them went and the others began to look about for 
themselves. It was an affectionate farewell that took 
place between us, and in all the years that have passed 
I have never seen many of those boys, but I shall never 
forget them. 

We reached the ranch without difficulty and 
turned the cattle loose. The poor things had been 
traveling so long and had become so accustomed to it 



Another Trip Across the Plains with Cattle 97 

that we had to watch them every day for nearly a 
month. They seemed to think they had to be moving, 
and after grazing awhile in the morning would string 
out on any road or path they could find and sometimes 
get miles away — the old leaders always in front — be- 
fore we would discover them. After awhile we got 
them convinced that their journey had ended and that 
grass belly deep was a reality which they might actual- 
ly enjoy. 



CHAPTER IX. 
Sojourn in California. 

The fall of 1854 and the winter and spring of 1855 
were not unlike our previous winters in California. 
There was but little to do except watch the cattle to keep 
them from straying. Hunting was about the only diver- 
sion and game was still plentiful. Grass was abundant 
all through the winter and the cattle fattened rapidly. 
During the spring and summer months we marketed 
all that were in proper condition, still receiving excel- 
lent prices. About the first of August brother Zack 
and I rigged up our pack mules and started back to 
meet James and Robert who had turned back the year 
before to gather up another herd and bring it across 
the plains during the summer. We passed over the 
mountains and reached the sixty-mile desert, which 
was about two hundred and fifty miles back on the 
plains from our ranch. In all the year we had heard 
nothing from home, and the only information we had 
that they were on the road was the promise they made 
us as they left our train the year before. 

We camped just at the western edge of the desert 
and during the night a train pulled in off the desert. 
We inquired of them next morning whether they had 
seen or heard of Gibson's train. They said they had 
passed it somewhere on Humboldt River, but could not 
give the exact location. They also told us the Indians 
had killed one of the Gibson boys. They did not know 
which one — had just heard of the circumstance as they 
passed. This sad news was a great blow to us. We 
broke camp hurriedly and started across the desert, 
weighed down by the sad reflection that we would 



Sojourn in California 99 

meet only one of our brothers — both equally dear, not 
only from boyhood association and ties of kindred, but 
from association in hardship across the dreary plains. 
We carried our weight of sorrow all that day and all 
the following night, across the barren sand, and at day- 
light we could barely make out Humboldt Lake in the 
distance. Upon closer approach we saw a large herd 
of cattle just being rounded up preparatory to the 
start across the desert. We hurried forward, hoping 
it was the train we were looking for, and yet fearing to 
know the truth of the rumor we had heard. A few mo- 
ments dispelled our doubts. It was Gibson's train and 
Brother James was alone with his cattle and his men. 
Robert, our mother's baby, seventeen years old, was 
the victim. Brother James, with tears streaming down 
his sunburnt face, related to us the manner of his death 
at the hands of treacherous Indians, and the train halt- 
ed on the threshold of the desert long enough for us to 
hear the story and dry the tears from our eyes. 

He said one day while on their journey over the 
mountains between Fort Laramie and the higher wa- 
ters of North Platte, and while the herd was moving 
forward in order, he rode ahead to locate a camping 
place for the night and left Robert in charge. 
He had been gone but a short time when six Indians 
came up to the train and in their way inquired for the 
captain. One of the men told them he was in the rear. 
They rode back and when they reached the men in 
the rear turned their ponies and rode along with the 
train some distance. Robert, who, though only seven- 
teen, had made four trips across the plains and under- 
stood the Indians, told the boys to watch them as he 
thought they were up to mischief. He feared they in- 
tended to get between the wagons, which were travel- 
ing close up behind the cattle, and loose horses and 



100 Recollections of a Pioneer 

mules, which were in the extreme rear, and cut them 
off, so he dropped back and motioned the men who 
were driving the horses and mules, to close up and at 
the same time stopped the wagons. He had the stock 
driven around the wagons, thus placing them between 
the cattle and the wagons, leaving the wagons in the 
extreme rear. He then took his place alongside the 
cattle. All this time the Indians had said nothing, had 
simply followed along with the train. The show of 
authority was what they were waiting for. They evi- 
dently could not believe the boy they saw was in fact the 
captain. As soon as Robert took his place by the side of 
the cattle three of the Indians rode up by his side and 
began to jabber and make signs. The other three rode 
up behind him. One of the three behind had an old 
army musket and while the three in front engaged 
Robert the one with the gun rode up very close and 
shot him in the back. He fell from his horse and was 
dead in an instant. The Indians whirled and galloped 
away as fast as their ponies could carry them. One of 
the boys rode forward to notify Brother James and met 
him returning at full speed. He had heard the report 
of the gun and knew by the sound that it was an In- 
dian's gun, and that it meant mischief of some kind. 
As soon as he returned to the train he mounted ten 
men and armed them and started after the Indians. 
After following about five miles he came in sight of 
them. About the same moment the Indians spied him 
and laid whip to their ponies. They were making for 
the mountains, but soon saw they would be overtaken 
and turned in the direction of the river. A hot race 
followed with the white men gaining all the time, but 
the Indians reached the river and plunged their ponies 
in. They had hardly reached the farther shore when 
James and his men were upon the bank. They fired 



Sojourn in California 101 

at them but the distance was too great for the shots to 
take effect. The party thought it unwise to cross the 
river in pursuit, as it might be difficult to recross and 
all this time the cattle and the train were insufficiently 
guarded, so they turned and made their way back, 
conscious that had they overtaken the Indians and 
slain them all such an act could not have restored Rob- 
ert to them, and their hearts would still have been 
heavy with their loss. 

When they returned to the train the boys had 
rounded up the cattle and were standing guard over 
them and the dead body. Nothing could be done but 
move on, but what was to be done with Robert's body? 
James said to attempt a burial where the wolves and 
coyotes would dig the body up was out of the question, 
and then he could not bear the idea of leaving him 
alone on those desolate mountains. So he put the 
body in one of the wagons and carried it forward two 
days journey, where they came to a trading post on the 
upper crossing of North Platte kept by an old French- 
man. There they procured a wagon box which they 
used for a coffin and buried him the best they could 
and protected the grave from wolves. James, learning 
that the Frenchman intended to go back to St. Joseph 
in about two months, employed him to take the body 
back with him and gave him an order for five hundred 
dollars in gold on Robert Donnell. I may as well re- 
late here that the Frenchman kept his promise, brought 
the body back and got his money, and that Robert now 
lies buried in the old family cemetery in Tremont 
Township. I learned this on my return, and that 
mother identified the body by examining the toes, 
one of which Robert had lost in an accident when quite 
a little boy. 



102 Recollections of a Pioneer 

Although the story was a sad one and our hearts 
were very heavy, still we could not tarry with our grief. 
The cattle must cross the desert and reach food and 
water beyond. James asked if we had had breakfast. 
I told him we had not — that we had traveled hard all 
night, but that we had a camp outfit and would pre- 
pare something after the cattle had started across the 
desert. When the train was under full way, we stir- 
red the coals of their camp fire, threw on some grease- 
wood brush and soon prepared bread and meat and 
coffee. The mules browsed on grease wood and we 
rested a couple of hours and then started after the 
train. All that day and all the next night — a steady 
drive, only now and then an hour's halt for food for 
ourselves and rest for the cattle. By eleven o'clock the 
following morning we were on Carson River, and glad 
we were, too. Zack and I had crossed over, taking 
twenty-four hours and back thirty hours — fifty-four 
hours without sleep or rest except two hours at the 
end of our first journey. In all my travels, and I look 
at it now after more than fifty years, with the exper- 
iences of the Civil War intervening, I have never seen 
a place so beautiful as Carson River and valley, not 
because it is more picturesque or naturally more en- 
chanting than many places I have seen, but because 
it was so welcome with its cold mountain waters and 
fresh green vegetation after our weary journeys across 
the barren desert, and I never thought it more beau- 
tiful to behold than on this, my last visit. 

Men, cattle and horses all took a good long rest, 
but the train was up and many miles on the road be- 
fore Zack and I awoke and followed. Two weeks more 
and the cattle were safe on the ranch and we were 



Sojourn in California 103 

off duty once more, and as events transpired, off the 
plains for all time — after nearly seven years of almost 
constant hardship. 

During the fall of 1855 and the spring of 1856 we 
marketed off the fat cattle. Sold Graham and Henry 
of Georgetown five hundred head to be delivered 
fifty head every two weeks. Georgetown was a mining 
camp one hundred miles northeast of our ranch. Our 
cattle were scattered over our own ranch and the 
ranches of Phillips, Wolfscale and Barker, and were 
well mixed with their wild cattle and horses. It rained 
almost constantly. The plains were boggy and the 
streams full of water. We had no time to lose and 
were in the saddle almost day and night, if not on the 
road to Georgetown, then rounding up and sorting out 
the cattle. We delivered the first fifty head on the fif- 
teenth day of October and the last on the first of 
April, and were glad when our task was over. 

The summer following passed without event 
worthy of mention. In the fall we sold Graham & 
Henry three hundred more cattle to be delivered in 
the same manner as the first, and had much the same 
experience, except that our work did not last so long. 

In the fall of fifty-seven, we sold our fat cattle and 
dairy cows to Miller & Lux, wholesale dealers in cattle 
in San Francisco. Delivery there was not so difficult. 
Our ranch was but twenty miles from San Francisco 
Bay, and after a drive to the shore of the bay the cattle 
were shipped across to the city. In the spring of eigh- 
teen hundred and fifty-eight. Brother Isaac withdrew 
from the business and returned to Missouri. We gave 
him fourteen thousand dollars in gold and deeded him 
sixty acres of land in Tremont Township, Buchanan 
County, for his interest. We continued the business 
through the year 1859 as partners. Brother William 



104 Recollections of a Pioneer 

remained with us, but had his own cattle and kept 
them on our ranch. Zack and I still had about one 
thousand head of stock cattle, and during the year, we 
bought several lots both of stock cattle and heifers. 
One bunch of a hundred heifers we turned over to 
James Glenn and Barsh Kessler, Buchanan County 
boys, to keep three years and breed for us, with the un- 
derstanding they were to have half of the increase as 
pay for their trouble. Another bunch of fifty heifers 
was turned over to Perry Jones, another Buchanan 
County boy, on the same terms. 

Toward Christmas we heard that our mother had 
died. This left our old father alone on the farm with 
the negroes, and we decided to leave our cattle in the 
care of Jones, Glenn and Kessler and go back and visit 
him. It was too late in the season to attempt the 
plains. The hot, dry summer on the plains had 
parched and withered the scant vegetation that had 
grown in the spring and early summer, and the exces- 
sive cold and accumulations of snow in the higher alti- 
tudes, rendered a trip by land almost impossible in 
winter, so, much as we disliked the trip by water, we 
decided to make it. I will not attempt to relate the 
incidents of this trip, as they were unimportant. There 
was, besides, little to distinguish it from the first voy- 
age over the same route, which I have already de- 
scribed. 

After reaching home we remained with our father 
until the first of May, when the start back overland 
must be made. It was decided that one of us must re- 
main with father, and as Zack and I were in partner- 
ship and William was alone in his business, the choice 
of remaining at home lay between Zack and myself, 
as either of us could easily care for our cattle. I gave 



Sojourn in California 105 

the choice to Zack and he decided he would go, and he 
and Wilham, accordingly, rigged up our outfit and 
started. 

I took charge of the farm at home and with the 
help of the negroes, managed it through the season, 
and thus relieved father of all worry and responsibil- 
ity. He had his horse and buggy and a black boy to 
care for it and drive him about the farm and over the 
neighborhood. Everything moved along in the usual 
way and I had a pleasant and restful summer — not so 
much restful from work, but restful compared with the 
excitement and over-exertion incident to a journey 
with cattle across the plains. I congratulated myself 
upon the choice Zack had made and was preparing 
for a year or two more of peace and quiet, but the 
death of my father the following fall left me alone 
with the farm and negroes. I remained with them 
throughout the winter, lonely and unpleasant as it was 
without my father, and planted and harvested most of 
the crop in sixty-one under many trying conditions. 
Stirring public events which began with the breaking 
out of the war interrupted my farming operations, 
and my part in them will furnish the material for sev- 
eral succeeding chapters. 



CHAPTER X. 
Beginning of the War. 

Shortly after the beginning of the war, Elijah 
Gates organized a company of southern boys, and most 
of my neighbors enlisted for six months. They wanted 
me to join them, but I said "no." I had been in camp 
for ten years and had some idea of the hardship of a 
soldier's life. I knew my place there on the farm 
would give me a far better opportunity to take the 
rest I felt to be so needful after my years of activity 
on the plains and in camp, and I could not be easily 
induced to leave it. Besides, I could not believe that 
a terrible war was upon us, and for a long time I had 
great faith that wise counsel would prevail and some 
reasonable adjustment be made of the differences be- 
tween the North and the South. 

Gates' company and the regiment to which it had 
been assigned left home with a great flying of colors, 
but notwithstanding my expressed sympathy with the 
South, this did not tempt me and I remained at home 
with my crop. I took no part in the wild talk that 
could be heard on every hand and paid close attention 
to my own business, but I soon found that I would not 
be permitted to live in peace. The Southern boys had 
no sooner left for the front than the opposition began 
to pour in around me. My sentiments were well 
known — in fact I had never tried to conceal them, be- 
lieving that a man in this country had a right to his 
opinions, but no man could point to a hostile word 
uttered by me. Notwithstanding this, those who were 
not willing to allow me to hold my opinions in peace 
began to harass and threaten me. I endured it until 



Beginning of the War 107 

about the first of August, when I saddled my horse, 
buckled my navies around me and started alone to 
join the Southern army. I rode to Liberty where I ex- 
pected to fall in with a company that I had heard was 
being organized, but it had gone. I met a man from 
St. Joseph by the name of Walter Scott, who was like- 
wise disappointed at arriving too late for the company, 
and he and I set out together to join Price in Arkan- 
sas. We rode slowly along, stopping at night at farm 
houses and talked little to anyone about our plans. 
When within about ten miles of Springfield we stopped 
for the night with a man who told us that Lyon's army 
was at Springfield and that Price was camped at Wil- 
son's Creek, about ten miles southwest of Springfield. 
I knew there was going to be a fight, and I slept 
little that night. It came sooner than I expected, for 
about sun up next morning we heard cannon off to the 
southwest. We sprang out of bed, and without wait- 
ing for breakfast, saddled our horses and galloped 
away. I knew Gates' company and my neighbors were 
in the fight and I wanted to help all 1 could. We had 
no trouble finding the way as the cannon and muskets 
were roaring like loud thunder and the smoke was 
boiling up out of the valley like a black cloud. We 
guessed right that L^^on had advanced out of Spring- 
field and was between us and Price's army, but we 
hurried on expecting to take care of that situation 
after getting closer to the battle. When within a few 
miles of the battle ground the firing ceased and short- 
ly afterwards we saw Federal soldiers coming toward 
us. We galloped away from the road and hid behind 
a cliff of rock and watched them go by. They were 
completely disorganized. Every man was pulling for 
Springfield in his own way, from five to fifty in a 
bunch, the bunches from one to three hundred yards 



108 Recollections of a Pioneer 

apart. Some had guns, some had none. Some had 
hats, some were bare-headed. Every battery horse car- 
ried two and some carried three — all hurrying on. We 
finally grew tired, and at the first opportunity dashed 
across the road between squads and made our way 
along a by-path toward the battlefield. We had not 
gone far until we met wounded men trying also to 
make their way back to Springfield. Some would walk 
a short distance and get sick and lie down by the 
roadside and beg for water. Some would hobble on 
in great misery, stopping now and then to rest. Others, 
and the more fortunate it seemed to me, had crawled 
off in the brush and died. 

In advancing we found it would be necessary to 
cross the main battlefield in order to reach Price's 
camp which was located down on the farther side 
of Wilson's Creek. Here we found the dead lying so 
thick that we had to pick our way and then often had 
difficulty in going forward without riding over a dead 
body. 

We reached the camp and asked to be shown to 
Gates' company. All were glad to see us and made 
many inquiries about home and families and friends. 
They were just cooking breakfast. William Maupin 
apologized for their late breakfast by saying that 
"Pap" Price had called upon them very early to do a 
little piece of work and they had just finished it and 
that had delayed their breakfast. I told them what I 
had seen on the road down and up upon the battlefield, 
and asked how their company had fared. They told 
me that one man, George Shultz, was shot through the 
head the first round and that was the only loss their 
company had sustained. This was the tenth day of 
August, 1861. 



Beginning of the War 109 

Next day I helped bury the dead Federal soldiers, 
and when this was done Price moved his army up to 
Springfield, as the Union army had in the meantime 
gone back to St. Louis. We remained there some two 
or three weeks. During my stay, Mrs. Phelps, the wife 
of Colonel Phelps, who commanded a regiment in 
Lyon's army at Wilson's Creek, and who had gone with 
the army to St. Louis, called on General Price for pro- 
tection. She lived about two miles east of Springfield, 
and by the way, if I remember correctly. General Ly- 
on was buried out at her place. Price sent Gates 
with his company, and as I had joined that company, I 
went along. We remained there as long as Price was 
camped in Springfield and took good care of her 
premises. 

Price decided to go north and this greatly pleased 
the boys. He had no army — just a lot of boys who 
furnished their own horses, guns, ammunition and 
blankets and most of the time their own provisions. 
He had little, or at least he didn't attempt to have 
much, discipline. We elected our own lieutenant, cap- 
tain and colonel by vote, and General Price seemed en- 
tirely satisfied so long as we were all on hands when 
there was any fighting to be done. 

When we reached Little Osage River on our way 
north. Price went into camp and next day sent Gates 
out on a scout. Gates went in the direction of Fort 
Scott. We traveled about fifteen miles and came with- 
in a short distance of the Fort where we found two 
soldiers herding a drove of horses and mules on the 
grass. Lane was in Fort Scott with a large force, but 
evidently he had no idea Price was anywhere near for 
he had no pickets out. We made a run for the horses 
and mules and took them and tried to get both men, 
but one of them got away. We knew he would report 



110 Recollections of a Pioneer 

and that would give us trouble. If we could only have 
secured both men we could have had the entire herd 
in our camp before Lane could have discovered that it 
was gone. We determined to do our best and get 
away if possible. Each horse and mule had a long 
rope attached to his neck which dragged along be- 
hind and this gave us much trouble and prevented fast 
traveling, as the horses stepped on the ropes and 
checked their speed. We got some four or five miles 
away and when on top of a high hill we looked back 
across the prairie and saw what appeared to be about 
two thousand mounted soldiers coming in hot haste af- 
ter us. Gates had but five hundred men. The ground 
was hilly and Gates picked a few men and sent them 
on with the horses. He then stopped half his men 
just over the turn of the first hill, dismounted them 
and detailed every fourth man to take the horses 
further down the slant and hold them. The remainder 
lay flat down on the ground. The other half of his 
company he sent over beyond the next hill with direc- 
tions to follow the same course. When our pursuers 
were a little more than half way up the hill coming 
toward us, we arose and fired into them. Lane dis- 
mounted his men and threw them in line of battle. By 
that time we were on our horses and gone. They 
could not see that we were gone and approached the 
top of the hill with great caution. This caused delay 
and that was what we wanted. When they found we 
were gone they mounted and followed. When about 
half way up the next hill the other half of our com- 
pany gave them another round and, as they feared we 
intended this time to make a stand, they again dis- 
mounted and prepared to fight. They were again dis- 
appointed. This was kept up for several miles. When 
we first saw we were pursued a courier was sent to 



Beginning of the War 111 

Price, but before Price could rally his army and reach 
us Lane gave up the idea of recovering his horses and 
went back to Fort Scott. We had one man wounded 
in the arm. 

We all returned to camp on Little Osage and next 
morning broke camp and started off as usual. I did 
not know the plan, but when Gates' compam^ was 
placed in front and led off over the same road 
we had traveled the day before, I knew an attack 
on Fort Scott was in mind. When about ten miles 
out we came to the top of a hill overlooking a wooded 
valley with a small dry creek running through it. We 
could see a long distance across the valley into the 
prairie hills beyond, but could see no sign of soldiers. 
The whole force halted and Gates was directed to go 
forward across the valley and through the timber, 
which I judge was nearly a mile in width. We passed 
down the hill and went very cautiously through the 
woods, but neither saw nor heard anything to arouse 
suspicion. On reaching the farther side of the timber 
we stopped and got off our horses to rest and allow 
them to graze. The whole company was entirely off 
guard and the boys were talking and laughing and 
having a good time, when suddenly cannon and mus- 
kets began to roar behind us. 

We soon saw what had happened. The Federal 
troops lay concealed in the timber and on discovering 
that we were but an advance guard, allowed us to pass, 
guessing aright that Price, after allowing us time to 
pass through, would, if we were not molested, move 
his main force forward. Price had followed us and 
the guns we heard were the beginning of the attack 
upon him. In a moment every man was in the saddle. 
We dashed back through the timber and found that 
Lane had advanced and attacked Price in the open 



112 Recollections of a Pioneer 

and while in the line of march. We could see some con- 
fusion, and it took a good while to get the men up out 
of the line of march and in a position to fight. Bled- 
soe's battery, however, was in action and Lane's men 
charged and captured it, wounding Bledsoe. Presently 
two regiments came up and recaptured the battery. 
By that time a second battery had come up and 
opened fire. We were still in the rear of Lane and in 
great danger from our own men. We picked a time 
when everybody on both sides seemed to be engaged 
and started around to the right of Lane and up the 
crest of a long ridge that led to the top of the hill. 
When about half way to the top a company of cavalry 
started up a little valley to our left to cut us off. We 
had the best horses and a little the advantage in dis- 
tance. Besides we were going toward our own army 
and getting safer all the time, while the company pur- 
suing us was all the time getting closer to danger. We 
hoped they would follow until a company of our men 
could cut in between them and their main force, but 
they were too cautious for that and abandoned the 
chase. We galloped around, reaching our forces just 
as the fight was over. 

When our whole force was brought up and placed 
in fighting line the situation got too severe for an 
army with a good shelter behind it, so Lane's men 
broke ranks and started for the timber. They made no 
attempt to rally and come again, but went directly on 
to Fort Scott. The road was dry and the dust fogged 
up through the timber like a black cloud and made 
a good target for our batteries. Lane lost more men 
and horses in the retreat through the timber than in 
the main fight. Price crossed to the opposite side of 
the valley and camped for the night. Next morning 



Beginning of the War 113 

very early he sent a scouting party with directions to 
ascertain as far as possible the probable strength of 
the forces in Fort Scott. The party found the place 
completely evacuated and so reported. Price made no 
attempt to follow, but continued his journey to the 
north. 



CHAPTER XL 
The Battle of Lexington. 

When within a few miles of Warrensburg, we 
learned that a portion of Mulhgan's force was camped 
there. We camped for the night and next morning 
discovered that the detachment had gone during the 
night to join the main force at Lexington. Gates was 
ordered to follow them. We traveled all day on a 
forced march, and when within a short distance of 
Lexington were fired upon from both sides of the road 
from behind corn shocks. We hastily dismounted and 
commenced shooting at the corn shocks. The firing 
from behind then soon ceased and the men hurried 
away towards Lexington. We followed, but as we were 
then less than a mile from the town we thought it un- 
wise to go too close until our main force came up. 

Next day Price came up and made his headquar- 
ters in the fair ground just south of town. We camped 
there three days picket-fighting but getting ready all 
the time to attack Mulligan behind his breast-works. 
We had to mold our bullets and make our cartridges 
and when sufficient ammunition had been prepared 
we were ready. We marched up and were met at the 
edge of the town where the fighting began. We 
marched down the sidewalks on each side of the streets 
with a battery in the center of the roadway. Mulli- 
gan's men fought well and kept the street full of mus- 
ket balls, but when the battery would belch out its 
grape shot they had to go back. I well remember, that 
at every opportunity we would jerk the picket fences 
down and go in behind the brick walls to shun the bul- 
lets. When the end of the wall was reached we had 



The Battle of Lexington 115 

to step out on the sidewalk and face the music. They 
made a great effort to keep us out of town before they 
went behind their breast-works, but they had to go. 

When Mulligan reached and went behind his for- 
tifications we closed in and surrounded him except 
upon the side next the river. Price sent a regiment up 
the river and one down the river. They charged and 
captured those portions of the breast-works which pre- 
vented us from getting to the river front and thus in 
their rear. This was done late in the evening and 
Gates' regiment lay on the hillside behind a plank 
fence all night to prevent a recapture. They made sev- 
eral attempts during the night but failed each time. 

The warehouses were full of hemp bales, and next 
morning we got them out and rolled them up the hill in 
front of us — two men to the bale — both keeping well 
down behind it. When we got in sight of their ditches 
we had a long line of hemp bales two deep in front 
of us, and then the fight commenced in earnest. They 
shot small arms from their ditches and cannon balls 
from their batteries. Sometimes a ball would knock 
down one of our top bales,but it soon went back in place 
We brought our battery up behind the breastworks and 
by taking the top bale off we made an excellent port- 
hole for the muzzles of our guns. The fight went on 
some two or three hours in this way. They in their 
ditches and we crouched behind our hemp bales. 
Every time a man showed his head half a dozen took 
a shot at him. They soon learned to keep their heads 
down, but they would put their hats on gun sticks 
and hold them up for us to shoot at, but we soon dis- 
covered this device and wasted very few bullets after- 
wards. 



116 Recollections of a Pioneer 

If this situation continued it looked as if the siege 
might last a month, so we decided to move closer. The 
top bales were pushed off and rolled forward with 
two men lying nearly flat behind each bale. When 
within forty yards of the trenches the front row halted 
and waited for the rear line of bales to come up. It 
took but a moment to hoist the one upon the other and 
thus we put our breastworks in much better position. 
Our batteries came up with little trouble, as we covered 
the opposite line so completely that no one dared to 
raise his head and shoot. Their batteries were posted 
on an exposed hill some two hundred yards away, 
but not a man was to be seen about them. Their gun- 
ners had all gone to the trenches. Our only suffering 
was when moving our hemp bales up the first time, and 
again when we advanced them the second time, as at 
these times we were too busy to return the fire, but we 
were well protected and lost very few men. 

We lay in this position for three days. Mulligan's 
trench must have been nearly two miles long. We had 
no idea what was going on at any other point, but 
guessed the situation was very much the same along 
the whole line. We could hear through the woods a 
single gun now and then, reminding us more of a 
squirrel hunt than a battle. At the end of three days 
Mulligan surrendered. We were glad to see the white 
flag, not so much because it meant victory for us as 
because we were hungry and tired. 

Mulligan marched his men out and had them stack 
arms. Then we marched them away from their arms 
and lined them up unarmed. Price took charge and 
put a guard around them, and then paroled them and 
sent them home. Some of them went back to Buchan- 
an County where they told friends of ours that Price 
had no privates in his army; that they saw nobody un- 



The Battle of Lexington 117 

der a lieutenant. They may have reached this conclu- 
sion from the way all left the hemp bales and went up 
to see the surrender. 

Price went back to Springfield and Gates and his 
company came home. Billy Bridgeman, a nephew of 
mine who lived near Bigelow, in Holt County, was with 
us and when we reached my home he wanted me to go 
on with him to his home. It was a dangerous trip. 
St. Joe, Savannah, Forest City and Oregon were full 
of soldiers. We left home in the morning about day- 
light, passed up east and north of St. Joe, crossed the 
Nodaway River just above its junction with the Mis- 
souri, hurried across the main road between Oregon 
and Forest City, where we were most apt to be dis- 
covered, and reached his home on Little Fork, about 
night. We remained there about three days when 
some zealous female patriot saw us and reported 
us. We learned that we had been reported and kept a 
close watch all day and at night, feeling sure that the 
Forest City company would try to capture us, we sad- 
dled our horses and rode out away from home. It was 
bright moonlight, and when about two miles from 
home we heard them coming and stopped in the 
shadow of some trees. When they got within forty 
yards of us we fired into them with our navies, and 
kept it up until we had emptied our six-shooters. They 
whirled and ran back as fast as their horses could carry 
them. We loaded our guns and followed. The first 
house they passed one man jumped off his horse and 
left him standing in the road. We stopped at the fence 
and called. A woman came out of the house. I asked 
her if any soldiers had passed there. She said — I use 
her words just as she uttered them: "Yes, they went 



118 Recollections of a Pioneer 

down the road a few minutes ago like the devil was 
after them." Billy and I did not know we had scared 
them so. 

The fine mare Billy's father had given him hurt 
her foot in some way and was limping badly, so he pul- 
led off the saddle and bridle and turned her loose. She 
started at once for home, and Billy saddled up the 
horse that had been left and we started on. It was 
then midnight and we had sixty miles before us. It 
was dangerous to ride in daylight, but more dangerous 
to stop anywhere on the road as we had no friends or 
acquaintances on the way. We could do nothing but 
go on and take chances. When, early in the forenoon, 
we reached the ford of the Nodaway on the old Hack- 
berry road leading from Oregon to Savannah, we met 
a man who told us that a regiment of soldiers had left 
Savannah that morning for Oregon. We crossed the 
river and turned to the right, leaving the main road 
and picking our way to the bluffs of the Missouri and 
down along these bluffs to a point just above St. Jo- 
seph. There we left the bluffs and went across the 
country to Garrettsburg on Platte River and reached 
home just at night. I called our old black woman out 
of the house and asked her if she had heard of any 
soldiers in the neighborhood and if she thought it 
would be safe for us to stop for supper. She said she 
had heard of no soldiers and she thought there would 
be no danger, but that Brother Isaac and George Boyer 
were up at Brother James' house waiting for us, so we 
rode on up there. 

We watered and fed our tired and hungry horses 
and had a good supper — the first mouthful since sup- 
per the night before — and all sat down to rest and 
talk. The house was a large two-story frame building 
fronting north, built upon a plan that was very popu- 



The Battle of Lexington 119 

lar in those days. A wide hall into which the front 
door entered from a portico, separated two large 
rooms — one on the right and the other on the left. A 
long ell joined up to the west room or end and extended 
back to the rear. A wide porch extended along the east 
side of the ell and along the south side of the east room 
of the front or main part of the building. A door in 
the rear of the front hall opened upon this porch, while 
doors from each of the rooms in the ell also led out 
upon the porch. We were all in the east front room 
with Brother James and his family. Brother Isaac and 
I were talking over our business affairs. Bridgeman 
had lain down upon a sofa and dropped off to sleep, 
and Boyer and Brother James and his family were 
chatting pleasantly, when a company of soldiers 
sneaked up and stationed themselves around the house. 
After they were sufficiently posted the captain gave 
us the first notice of their presence by calling out in a 
loud voice, "Come out, men, and give yourselves up, 
you will not be hurt." We knew by that call that a 
good strong force was outside and that trouble was at 
hand. We hurriedly lowered the window shades and 
blew out the light and remained perfectly still. The 
captain called again, urging that we would be treated 
as prisoners of war if we would surrender. We knew 
too well the value of such a promise made by the cap- 
tain of a self-appointed gang of would-be regulators, 
who did not know the duty of captors toward their 
prisoners, and if they had known were not to be 
trusted. Besides we had no notion of surrendering as 
long as our ammunition held out. 

When the captain found we were not to be coaxed 
out by his false and flattering promises, he began to 
show his real intentions. He said, "Gome out! G — d — 
you, we have got you now." We still gave no answer. 



120 Recollections of a Pioneer 

Then he said if we did not come out he would burn 
the house down over our heads. When that failed 
he called on us to send the women and children out so 
he could burn the house. We accommodated him that 
much and sent them out. I told them to go out at the 
front door and to be sure and close it after them. When 
the women were gone we opened the door and passed 
into the hall and then to the back or south door, 
Bridgeman in front. He opened the door just enough 
to peep out. He had a dragoon pistol in his right hand 
and a Colt's navy in his left. When the door opened a 
man stepped up on the porch with his bayonet fixed 
and told Billy to come on. Billy gave him an ounce 
ball and he fell back off the porch. The fight was then 
on and had to be finished. Just after Billy fired the shot 
he accidentally dropped his navy from his left hand 
and it fell behind the door in the dark. He stooped to 
feel for it and Brother Isaac asked, "Billy was that 
you shot?" I told him that it was. He then said, "we 
must get out of here now." With that, and before Billy 
found his gun, I jerked the door wide open and went 
out. Brother Isaac followed me, Boyer next and Billy 
last. There was no one to be seen but the dead man 
by the side of the porch. The others had taken shelter 
behind the east end of the house and the south end of 
the ell. I went soitth along the ell porch and Isaac fol- 
lowed close behind me. When I got to the end of the 
porch I jumped off and there I found about a dozen 
men lined up. They fired at me but the blaze went 
over my head. I turned my face to them and took a 
hand myself. By that time Brother Isaac was at my 
side, and, although unaccustomed to warfare, he did 
good service. We opened fire and they turned and 
ran. We followed them around the house and ran 
them off the premises and out into the public road. 



The Battle of Lexington 121 

When Billy found his navy and came out, he saw 
men at the east end of the house firing across at us 
from the rear so he ran down the porch that led to that 
end of the house. Just as he reached the end of the 
porch a man stepped from behind the house and raised 
his gun to shoot at us. Quick as a flash Billy stuck the 
end of his navy within six inches of the man's face 
and shot him in the mouth. The man dropped down 
on the ground and bawled like a steer. At this the men 
farther around in the chimney corner broke and ran 
and Billy followed. They did not stop running and 
Billy did not stop shooting until they were well off the 
premises. 

Boyer who was the third man out of the house 
afterwards related his experience to me. He jumped 
off the porch and ran out through the back yard. He 
stumbled and fell over a bank of dirt that had been 
thrown out of a well, but Brother Isaac and I were 
keeping all of them so busy that no one seemed to no- 
tice him. He was up in a moment and going again. 
When he got to the rear of the smoke house he ran 
over a man who lay hid in the weeds. The fellow 
jumped up and ran and Bo^^er shot at him, but both 
kept on running. Boyer reached a corn field and lay 
hid the remainder of the night. 

After the fight was over Billy, Brother Isaac and 
I went down into the woods and sat for a long time 
talking it over. We had no idea how many men were 
in the company, but were confident that it went away 
somewhat smaller than when it came. They got our 
horses and saddles and, as we had fired all the loads 
out of our pistols in the fight, we had nothing but the 
clothes on our backs and our empty revolvers. We 
didn't dare go back to the house, so, late in the night, 
we started out first to replenish our ammunition. We 



122 Recollections of a Pioneer 

stopped at Jack Elder's, a mile to the west. He gave us 
powder and bullets, but he had no caps. We then went 
over to Judge Pullins' who had a good supply and fur- 
nished us plenty of them. After loading our guns we 
went north to the home of Joe Evans. Evans was a 
lieutenant in the Southern army, and his wife, who was 
Nelly Auxier, was at home with her children. We had 
known her from childhood, so we went in and went to 
bed. Nelly sat up the remainder of the night and kept 
watch. This was the first sleep in nearly forty-eight 
hours. At seven she woke us for breakfast. About ten 
o'clock Judge Pullins, who knew where we were, 
brought over the morning St. Joe paper. It contained 
a long account of the fight, and said that Penick's men 
had gone down into "the hackle" the night before and 
killed two of the Gibson boys and captured the remain- 
der of the "gang." This was amusing news, and 
about as near the truth as most reports of that kind. 

Although it was dangerous for us to travel by 
daylight, we concluded we might, with proper caution, 
get back over the ground and see for ourselves what 
had been done. We kept well in the timber and 
reached Brother James' house about noon. The house 
was considerably scratched up by bullets and blood 
was strewn all around it. Four men had been killed and 
five wounded. Harriet, our old negro woman, told us 
the soldiers had first stopped at father's old place and 
inquired for us. She started across the fields at once 
to notify us, but could not make the half mile on foot 
in time and had reached only a safe distance from the 
house when the fight began. 

We remained in the neighborhood, hidden at first 
one place and then another for several days. Brother 
Isaac, being rather too old to go in the army left home 
and went to Illinois for safety, as he knew there would 



The Battle of Lexington 123 

be no peace for him after the fight, no matter how 
conservative he had been in the past or how well be- 
haved he might be in the future. The unfortunate cir- 
cumstance which, on account of his association with 
us, had compelled him to fight for his life, had ren- 
dered his efforts to remain at home out of the ques- 
tion. Billy and I, having lost our horses, saddles and 
blankets, were compelled to remain, in spite of the 
fact that soldiers were hunting us hke hounds, until we 
could get properly equipped to leave. We were not 
long in doing this, and then we set out on horseback 
through a country patroled by many soldiers to join 
our company at Springfield. 



CHAPTER XII. 

Back to the South. 

We left in the afternoon, and, taking byroads, 
passed Stephen Bedford's and went on to Doc Brown's 
on Casteel Creek. We spent the night there. Brown 
kept us up until midnight, asking questions about our 
experiences at Wilson's Creek, Fort Scott and Lexing- 
ton and about the fight with Penick's men at Brother 
James' house. He had heard the firing although eight 
miles away, and suspected that some of the Gibson boys 
were in the fight. We started early next morning for 
Clay County where my sister, Mrs. Harrison Wilson, 
lived. We reached her home without difficulty and 
remained there over night. It was about fifteen miles 
from her home to the Missouri River where we expect- 
ed to have trouble, as soldiers were on guard at every 
crossing point between St. Joseph and the Mississippi. 
If we could not find a ferry unguarded we expected to 
bind Cottonwood logs together, get on them and swim 
our horses alongside. This was disagreeable and very 
dangerous and was not to be thought of so long as there 
was any chance to cross on a ferry. We decided, there- 
fore, to go to old Richfield and try the ferry by fair 
means or foul. We reached the high bluff that over- 
looks the town, about five o'clock in the afternoon, 
and looked cautiously down. The soldiers were 
camped just below the town and the ferry land- 
ing was a little above it. Everything was quiet — 
no soldiers up in town or about the ferry landing that 
we could see. While we were watching, the ferry boat 
crossed to this side and landed. We rode quietly down 
the hill and on to the boat. Billy asked the ferryman 



Back to the South 125 

if he was going right back. He said no, that he made 
regular trips. Billy asked how long before he would 
start. He said thirty minutes. Billy told him we could 
not wait that long, and that he must go back imme- 
diately. The ferryman looked up into Billy's face and 
said he would wait for time. In an instant he found 
himself looking into the muzzle of a Colt's navy. 
Billy told him to stand perfectly still if he valued his 
life. I jumped off my horse and loosed the cable that 
held the boat to shore. The current carried the boat 
out into the river and Billy told the ferryman to take 
charge and set us over. He did it without a word and 
we rode out in safety on the other shore. In all that 
happened on the boat, not a loud word was spoken, 
and, so far as I know, the soldiers did not even suspect 
our presence. 

When we rode out on firm land on the southern 
side of the Missouri we felt much safer, because the 
task we had most dreaded was over. We passed about 
five miles into the country and put up for the night at 
a farm house where we found seven or eight southern 
men all on their way to the Confederate hues. Two of 
these were Confederate soldiers and the remainder 
were old men leaving home for safety. The two sol- 
diers were John Culbertson of Buchanan County and 
Sol Starks of Clay County. The next morning about 
nine o'clock, as we rode peacefully along, two boys 
about twelve years of age came galloping toward us 
as fast as their horses could carry them. We said noth- 
ing to them and they said nothing to us, but I thought 
their conduct rather strange. In a few minutes they 
passed back, still riding very fast. Starks and I were 
riding in front and I told him I thought we had better 
stop the boys and ask them what they were up to. We 
galloped after them leaving the other men behind, and 



126 Recollections of a Pioneer 

when we had overtaken them and inquired the cause 
of their fast riding, the}^ told us there was a gang of 
"Jayhawkers" in the neighborhood and they (the boys) 
were hiding their horses. While we were talking to 
the boys Starks left his mule standing at the roadside 
and stepped aside. I also alighted from my horse. 
There was a short curve in the road just in front of 
us and while in the position I have described, Jenni- 
son's regiment came dashing around the curve and 
right down upon us. Starks left his mule standing in 
the road and ran for his life out through the timber. I 
jumped on my horse and took the same course. They 
soon overtook Starks and shot and killed him. A band 
of them followed me shooting and calling "halt," but I 
only went the faster. I had gained a little on them by 
the time I came to a rail fence. It looked like tliey had 
me, but I had no idea of stopping. I threw off the top 
rail and made my horse jump the fence into a corn- 
field. They were at the fence in a moment firing and 
calling halt. I threw myself down on my horses's side 
in cowboy fashion, hanging on by leg and arm and 
sent him at his best speed down between two rows of 
corn. I soon came to a road where the corn gatherers 
had been hauling out the corn, and finding this better 
traveling and thinking it might lead to an outlet from 
the field I took it. They were still following and shoot- 
ing at me. The fence where the road entered the field 
was up, but I had passed over one and could pass an- 
other. I held a tight reign and forced my horse to take it. 
He knocked off the top rail, but landed on his feet. Out- 
side the field a firm road led down a long slant directly 
away from my pursuers. This gave me an advantage 
and I made good use of it. The soft ground of the corn- 
field checked their speed and the fence halted them, I 
think, for I never saw them any more. When my 



Back to the South 127 

horse reached the bottom of the slant and struck the 
level ground, the change of the surface threw him 
headlong. I went sailing in the air over beyond him 
carrying the bridle reins with me. Although terribly 
jolted I beat the horse up and was on his back the mo- 
ment he could stand. I took no time to throw reins 
over his head, but with the rein swinging from my 
hand to the bit I pushed him into the brush and a half 
mile farther on before stopping. 

My poor horse was almost dead, but as I could 
hear no one following me it looked like he had car- 
ried me to safety. I looked and listened intently but 
could neither see nor hear anyone. I got off my horse 
that he might get a better rest, as I did not know how 
soon he might have to run again, and after the first 
few breaths of freedom, began to think of my com- 
panions. As the main body of the regiment kept the 
traveled road and only a detachment followed me, it 
was certain that Bilty and Culbertson and the old men 
would meet them. I feared for the result — especially 
to the old men. Billy and Culbertson I thought could 
likely take care of themselves. The point where I had 
stopped was at the head of a long ravine, and while 
standing there I saw a man approaching on horseback. 
I watched a moment and discovered that it was Bridge- 
man. We were rejoiced to see each other. Billy asked 
about Starks and I told him his fate. I asked how his 
party had fared. He said when they saw the soldiers 
coming he and Culbertson were in front. They fired 
at the soldiers and took to the brush. He had seen none 
of his companions since. By chance Billy had taken 
the same general direction that I had gone and that is 
how we happened to meet. We thought it almost provi- 
dential. 



128 Recollections of a Pioneer 

I heard afterwards, but I cannot say as to the 
truth of the report, that the old gray haired men who 
were with us were all captured and killed. Whatever 
may have been their fate, we could do nothing for 
them against a regiment and counted ourselves more 
lucky than wise that we escaped with our own lives. 

Billy and I remained in seclusion most of the day 
and then, hearing nothing of Culbertson and the old 
men, started on our journey. We rode leisurely 
along and reached Springfield without further diffi- 
culty. There we found Culbertson, waiting and look- 
ing for us. He was sly as a red fox and as hard to 
catch. He had gotten away from Jennison and had 
made better time to Springfield than we, and, as he 
knew our destination, waited our coming as proof 
that we had not been caught. 

General Price was in winter quarters. We re- 
mained with our company a few weeks, and just before 
Christmas Billy and Jim Combs, his brother-in-law, 
and I got permission to spend the holidays at Granby 
with Jeff Whitney, Comb's step-father, who had for- 
merly lived in Holt County. While on this visit Whitney, 
who was a man of considerable wealth, concluded he 
would move farther south in order to secure better 
protection for his family and property, and asked us to 
accompany him across the mountains as a guard. We 
consented to do it and made the trip with him over 
land to Fort Smith, where Whitney, after going just 
across the Arkansas line, erected a cabin in the Chero- 
kee Nation. We remained with him about a week as- 
sisting him to get settled, when we got a letter from 
Colonel Gates informing us that a strong army was ap- 
proaching from St. Louis and calling us back to our 
places in his company. 



Back to the South 129 

We set out for Springfield immediately and met 
our army as it retreated to join Van Dorn at Fayette- 
ville. I shall always remember our meeting with this 
army. The ox teams were in front, four yoke to each 
wagon, a long string of them, winding slowly down 
the road. Then the mule teams, six mules to each 
wagon, many of them the same mules we had captured 
at Fort Scott. Next a regiment of soldiers, then Gen- 
eral Price and his body guard, then the main body of 
the army with Gates in the rear. The pursuing army 
was making forced marches in an effort to bring on a 
general engagement before Price united his forces with 
Van Dorn. We had hardly joined our company, when 
the enemy, seeing that another day's march would 
place Price very close to Van Dorn, sent two regiments 
of cavalry to attack our rear. The first regiment came 
dashing upon us without warning, yelling and shooting. 
Gates ordered his men to dismount and take to the 
brush. They obeyed in an instant, leaving their horses 
in the road. The horses, frightened by the attack from 
the rear, stampeded and dashed forward upon the in- 
fantry. The attacking regiment followed, and before 
they realized their peril were far in between two lines 
of hidden Confederates who, protected by the brush, 
piled horses and soldiers thick along the road. There 
were but few left to tell the tale. The second regi- 
ment on discovering the situation of the first, failed to 
follow. Price, on discovering that the attack had 
been made sent a regiment of infantry back to support 
us, but when it arrived the work had been done. We 
came out of the brush and followed the infantry, still 
protecting the rear until our horses were sent back. 



130 Recollections of a Pioneer 

That was the last day of the retreat. Price took a 
stand at Cross Hollow where Van Dorn joined him. 
The Union army stopped at Pea Ridge. Both armies 
rested three days. On the night of the third day Price 
broke camp and traveled all night. By dayUght he was 
in the road behind the enemy, and at sun up moved 
south toward their camp. We had not gone far when 
we met fifteen or twenty government teams going on 
a forage. They were greatly surprised, but grinned and 
said nothing. Price put a guard over them and moved 
on. When he got in position on the rear he fired a 
cannon as a signal to Van Dorn that all was ready. 
The engagement soon opened front and rear. Price was 
successful on his side, but Van Dorn was defeated. In 
less than an hour not a gun could be heard along the 
whole south side of the army. The whole force then 
turned upon Price and he was compelled to retreat. 
He went north until he came to a road leading across 
the mountains to White River. The Union forces did 
not follow and the retreat was made with httle diffi- 
culty. We had no baggage except the artillery and 
the teams captured early in the morning. The roads, 
hgwever, were very rough and our progress was very 
slow. On the following morning while we were toihng 
over the mountains, General Price rode by with his 
arm in a sling. The boys cheered him until the moun- 
tains resounded for miles. In a few days we were be- 
yond danger of pursuit and made our way in safety to 
Fort Smith. 

From Fort Smith Price was ordered to Memphis. 
He started at once over land to Des Arc on White 
River. From there we went to Memphis by boat. After 



Back to the South 131 

a short stay in Memphis, Brother James, who had re- 
turned from Cahfornia and joined the army, was sent 
back to Missouri as a recruiting officer. Billy Bridge- 
man and I got leave to accompany him and we all came 
together back as far as Des Arc. There Billy decided 
to return to Memphis and go on with Price, while 
Brother James and I came home on horse back. This is 
the last time I ever saw Bridgeman. 



CHAPTER XIII. 
Home for Recruits. 

I do not recall the incidents of the trip home. I do 
not remember the road or how we crossed the river or 
anything about it, though I have tried very hard to 
recall them. I only know that we went from Des 
Arc to Dover, Arkansas, and that somewhere on the 
road Henry Gibson and Harold Shultz joined us and 
that we all reached home together. Henry Gibson is 
dead. Schultz is insane and confined at State Hospital 
No. 2 at St. Joseph, and Brother James is in Idaho, so 
I have no way of refreshing my meinory, and as the 
trip, although it covered nearly four hundred miles, 
was made forty-eight years ago, my foot steps have 
grown cold. It is more than probable that a single 
hint would rescue the entire journey and its incidents. 

I recall events after we reached home with per- 
fect distinctness. We remained out in the brush most 
of the time. Brother James, at such times as he could, 
met all those who wanted to join the army. Be- 
sides the boys on the east side of Platte River, he en- 
listed John and Wash Lynch, two of the Greenwood 
boys. Jack Smedley, Jim Reeves, William and John 
Reynolds and Richard Miller from the west side. In all 
there were some twenty-five or thirty. We secured a 
tent and pitched it in a secret place in what was then 
and now sometimes called "the hackle," about a mile 
east of Garrettsburg. We had scant provisions, some 
flour, sugar, coffee and bacon which we kept hang- 
ing in a tree. During the day we managed to partly 
satisfy our hunger on this diet, but at night we went out 
to see the girls and get good meals. In spite of the con- 



Home For Recruits r„ 133 

slant fear of discovery, we had a good time. Dur- 
ing all this time the boys were collecting guns and am- 
munition. These they got wherever they could. Most 
often from friends who gave or loaned them, but some- 
times from a straggling soldier or militia man who 
was caught away from camp. 

Everything was ready and the night fixed for our 
departure. Doc. Watson had informed us that there 
was a company of militia camped in his yard about 
three miles distant from our camp, cooking, eating and 
sleeping on his blue grass. Our plan was to march up 
near them during the night and wake them at day- 
break and bid them goodby. During the entire time our 
camp remained there, we took no pains to conceal it 
from the negroes, for the most of them — and we thought 
all — could be trusted as far as our white friends. We 
made a mistake in one of them. He turned traitor and 
told the company at Doc Watson's that about two hun- 
dred "bush-whackers" were camped in the Hackle. 
They informed the authorities at St. Joe and the night 
before we proposed to execute our plans they marched 
two regiments — one infantry and one cavalry — down 
close to our camp and next morning surprised us by 
calling about sun up. It was clear they had a guide 
for they followed the trail through the thick woods 
directly to the tent. 

The tent was stretched in a little valley and over 
beyond a deep gulch, so that it was impossible to ap- 
proach nearer than fifty yards of it on horseback. 
This was too close to be comfortable to the eight men 
who were in it sound asleep. Without a moment's 
warning they fired into it. The aim was high and not 
a man was hit. They jumped and ran for their lives 
and all escaped. It was our good fortune that more of 
the boys were not in the tent. As it was to be the last 



134 %< Recollections of a Pioneer 

night at home, most of the boys had gone to bid their 
friends goodby and had remained with them for the 
night. Brother James and I had gone home with 
Charley Pulhns, who had joined our company, and, in 
place of retmning to the tent, we all took our blankets 
and slept in his rye field. 

Earl}^ next morning we were awakened by the 
barking of PuJlii.s' dog. We jumped up and looked 
and listened. A regiment of infantry was passing along 
the road. They had a six gun battery with them and I 
could not mistake the creaking of the old truck-wheels. 
We picked up our blankets and ran to the house and 
threw them in at the back window, and then stepped 
around in front to watch them go b}^ some two hun- 
dred yards distant. We had no idea they were after 
us wdth all this equipment, but supposed they w^ere 
simply marching from Easton to St. Joe and had prob- 
ably missed the road. We knew nothing of the attack 
upon the tent, nor did we know that at that moment 
the cavalry regiment had divided into squads and was 
galloping from house to house all over the neighbor- 
hood, looking for the Gibson boys. 

While we stood watching the procession pass we 
heard a rumbling noise behind us, and back of the 
house. I turned and saw the cavalry coming under 
lash. We ran for the front gate which led away from 
the infantry that was passing. A few rods beyond the 
gate lay a heavy body of timber and we made for it. 
As I went out I passed my fine saddle mare graz- 
ing in the yard, and I threw the yard gate 
wide open. By this time the soldiers had galloped 
around both sides of the house and commenced firing 
at us. At the first shot my mare threw up her head 
and tail and made for the gate. She was safe in the 
timber almost as soon as we were. When we reached 



Home For Recruits 135 

the timber bullets were flying after us pretty thick, but 
I stopped and threw my double barrel shot gun to my 
shoulder. Brother James called to me to save my 
loads, but as we each had two six shooters and a double 
barrel shot gun, I thought I could spare one load so I 
gave it to them. They, like all soldiers at that time, 
were dreadfully afraid of the brush, and, whether it 
was my shot or the fact that we had reached the timber, 
they stopped firing and started around to the farther 
side of the woods. I lost sight of Pullins and James, 
and when I saw the soldiers start around the timber I 
ran back towards the house and into a cornfield on the 
opposite side. When I reached the fence at the farther 
side of the cornfield, I ran directly upon two of the in- 
fantry soldiers who had apparently become lost from 
the regiment. They were as much, if not more sur- 
prised than I was, for I had presence of mind enough to 
use the remaining load in my shot gun and they tore 
through the brush like wild deer. 

I went up to the tent expecting to find the boys 
there. Instead, I found the tent riddled with bullets 
and several old guns which the soldiers had destroyed 
by hammering the barrels around a tree. I was, of 
course, greatly surprised, but after looking over the sit- 
uation I was gratified at finding no evidence that any 
of our men had been killed. I learned afterwards that 
but one man had been killed in the whole raid. That 
man was George Reynolds. After the attack upon the 
tent the soldiers rode over to Reynold's house and 
found him, an old gray haired man, carrying a basket 
of corn to his hogs. They shot him where he stood 
and rode off and left him for the women of his family 
to bury, as the men in the community didn't dare come 



136 Recollections of a Pioneer 

out of the brush to their assistance. One man. Rich 
Miller, who knew of his death, ventured out and helped 
bury him. 

The raid scattered our little band of volunteers 
and all hope of gathering them together was aban- 
doned. On the evening after the raid my saddle mare 
— the one I had let out through the gate at Pullins', 
after remaining in the woods all day, came up to the 
gate at the old home, as though she knew — and I be- 
lieve she did — that it was not safe for her to be seen 
on the road in daylight. During the night that fol- 
lowed I located Brother James and he, Pullins and I de- 
cided to go back into the Confederate lines. Within a 
day or two we left expecting, as upon our preceding 
trip, to cross the river at Richfield. We passed through 
old Haynesville on the line between Clinton and Clay 
Counties, which was then a thriving village, but which 
I am told is now abandoned as a town, and then on 
directly toward the river. There was considerable 
Union sentiment about Haynesville and some one there 
must have suspected our purpose and informed a com- 
pany of militia that happened to be in the neighbor- 
hood. We rode leisurely along, not suspecting that we 
were being followed, and, when we reached the home 
of Reuben J. Eastin, some six miles south of Haynes- 
ville, stopped for dinner. Eastin was related to 
Pullins and the family were all glad to see us, and in- 
vited us into the house and the old gentleman directed 
his son to take our horses to the barn and feed them. 
I told him we had better go to the brush and feed our 
horses and have our meals sent to us. He said there 
was no danger as there were no soldiers in the com- 
munity. 

We all pulled off our belts and threw them, with 
the navies in them on a bed and prepared for dinner. 



Home For Recruits 137 

As I stepped across the room to a looking glass to comb 
my hair, I glanced out the door and saw a company 
of militia coming up the road from the north under 
whip. Brother and I sprang for our navies and 
buckled them around us and ran out at the back door 
and into a corn field, which was on the south side of 
the house. Pullins, who was not accustomed to war- 
fare, was so frightened that he forgot his guns. It was 
August and the weather was verj^ hot. We ran down 
between two rows of corn as fast as we could, Pullins 
in front, Brother James behind him and I in the rear. 
I got hot and called to them not to run so fast, but they 
did not hear me and kept going. I stopped and sat 
down. I could then hear the horses galloping around 
to the farther or south side of the field, so I turned and 
ran east toward the main road which ran in front of 
the house, and along the east side of the field. When I 
got to the fence I looked both directions and saw no 
soldiers. They had evidently anticipated that we 
would all make for the heavy timber which lay south 
and west of the field, and had undertaken to head us 
off in that direction. There was a woods pasture just 
across the road, with only large trees in it, but I saw 
beyond the timber a thicket which seemed to skirt a 
draw or gully and I made up my mind to cross the road 
and take my chances. I remember thinking that if I 
should be discovered while crossing the open pasture 
there would probably be no more than four or five men 
in the squad and that I could get behind a big tree and 
wait until they came close to me, when with my skill 
in the use of the navy, I could protect myself against 
them. I jumped over the fence and made good speed, 
taking no time to look back, until I reached the thicket. 
Not a man of them saw me. They had left a gap open, 
and I was out of the trap. I followed the brushy ra- 



138 Recollections of a Pioneer 

vine some distance and came to another cornfield. In 
passing througli this field I came upon a water melon 
patch, completely surrounded by the corn. I decided 
this would be a good place to stop and wait for de- 
velopments. I took a big ripe melon out into the corn 
and proceeded to supply as much as possible the din- 
ner the soldiers had caused me to lose. I knew I was 
safe, but I was not so sure about my companions. In a 
few minutes I heard two pistol shots. They were from 
Brother James' navy. I had heard the report too many 
times to be mistaken. This assured me that he had 
not at that moment been captured. In about five min- 
utes I heard two musket shots, and this alarmed me. 
I felt perfectly sure if they had fired at Brother James 
they had not harmed him and he had escaped without 
returning the fire, but I could not be so sure about Pul- 
lins as I knew he had no weapons with him. No fur- 
ther shots were fired. 

I remained in the corn field until nearly night and 
then started for the home of my sister, Mrs. Wilson, 
who lived about three miles north and east. I reached 
her house about nine o'clock at night, but did not go in. 
She brought food to me in the timber near by and re- 
mained with me waiting and watching for Brother 
James and Pullins. We were both very uneasy and 
greatly feared they had been captured. We knew either 
or both of them, if alive and not captured, would come 
to her house to find me before attempting to go on to the 
south. About midnight Brother James came in. He 
knew nothing of Pullins. We watched for him all night 
but he never came. Next morning Mrs. Wilson saddled 
her horse and rode over to Eastin's to see if she could 
hear of him. When she returned she told us they had 
captured Pullins and taken him to Liberty. The last 
word Pullins' young wife had said to me as we left 



Home For Recruits 139 

home, was, "Take good care of Charley." There was 
little that could be done for hnn now, but in the hope 
that we might be able to do something, or that, as he 
was a perfectly innocent boy, making his way south for 
safety, he would be paroled and released and allowed 
to return to his home. We remained in the brush a 
week waiting for him. During this time Brother James 
gave me a full account of his escape. 

He said when he and Pullins reached the south 
side of the corn field they could hear the horses com- 
ing and decided it would not be safe to attempt to get 
out into the timber, so they put back into the field and 
became separated. In a short time men were all 
around the field and in the field riding through the 
tall corn. When James discovered that men were in 
the field he crouched down beneath a bush and re- 
mained perfectly quiet in order that he might hear the 
approach of the horses through the rattling corn. He 
had remained in this position but a short time when he 
saw a single horseman coming toward him. He drew 
his navy and lay still. When the man got very close he 
arose and shot him in the leg. He then shot his horse 
and ran. He could easily have killed the man, but did 
not want to do it. At the sound of these guns all the 
pursuers started in the direction of the supposed fight. 
James heard them coming and decided to go back to- 
ward the house in the hope of finding it unguarded. 
In that case he would secure his horse. When he got 
to the fence near the barn he set his foot upon a rail 
and raised his body to look. At that moment he saw 
two soldiers on guard and they saw him. They raised 
their guns to fire, but James threw up his hands and 
said, "Don't shoot." They thought he had surrendered 
and dropped their guns. In the twinkle of an eye 
he fell back off of the fence and put back into the 



140 Recollections of a Pioneer 

heavy corn. The soldiers both fired at him but 
he had the fence as a shield and their shots were harm- 
less. The guards then yelled, "Here he is," and the re- 
mainder of the soldiers in the field and out supposing 
the musket shots had killed one or more of us, all gal- 
loped for the barn. James heard them going from all 
directions and kept close watch that none who were in 
the field might come near enough to see him. When 
they were all well on toward the barn he made quick 
time back through the field and into the woods be- 
yond. He had not gone far in the timber when he 
heard them coming again, and, as he was almost worn 
out and feared he would not be able to get out of reach 
of them he climbed a tree that had thick foliage upon 
it and remained there the whole afternoon. He could 
hear the soldiers riding around the field and through 
the corn and in the timber near him. When night came 
they gave up the search, and James climbed dow^n and 
made his way to Mrs. Wilson's. 

By the end of a week we had the full story of Pul- 
lins' fate. They had taken him to Liberty and there 
pretended to try him, found him guilty, but of what 
crime no record will ever show and no man will ever 
know, sent him back to old man Eastin's, where he 
was shot by twelve men. They then plundered Eastin's 
house, took his horses, harness and wagons, bedding 
and table ware, provisions and everything movable 
and moved him, a blind and helpless cripple, out 
of his house and under the trees of his orchard, set fire 
to his house and burned it to the ground. 

We could do nothing but go on, so with sad hearts 
and without horses or blankets, with nothing but our 
trusted navies and plenty of ammunition, we skulked 
our way to old Richfield again, some fifteen miles from 
Mrs. Wilson's. We reached the river just about dark 



Home For Recruits 141 

and lay in the bluffs all night, without food or shelter. 
Early in the morning we ventured down to a house and 
asked for breakfast. We knew by the way we were 
received that he was a southern man, but we were too 
cautious to make our wishes known at once. By the 
time breakfast was over we decided we could trust 
him, so we asked him if he knew of any way we could 
get across the river. He told us there was a man on 
the other side of the river who had a skiff and made a 
business of setting southern men across, but he was 
very cautious and would not come to this side except 
upon a signal. We then asked him if he would assist 
us and he said he would, but we must be very careful 
to evade the northern soldiers on guard and not let 
them see him as if they suspected him they would 
probably kill him and burn his home. We assured him 
that we were discreet, so he went with us. He took us a 
short distance above Richfield and into a timbered bot- 
tom, and when we got to the road which paralleled the 
river he told us to stop and wait for him. He passed 
across the road and out into the willows that grew be- 
tween the road and the water. While we stood wait- 
ing a man and woman approached through the tim- 
ber from the west singing Dixie at the top of their 
voices. We knew this was a ruse to deceive just such 
men as ourselves. Federal soldiers were so near that 
no sincere southern person would sing Dixie at the top 
of his voice within their hearing. We ran back into 
the timber and lay down behind a log. The couple 
passed, still singing, and went on toward the town. In a 
few minutes our man came back. We left our hiding 
place and followed him to the river. The man was 
there with his boat waiting for us. We jumped in. Our 
friend shoved the boat from shore and put back into 
the willows. Our boatman told us that soldiers both 



142 Recollections of a Pioneer 

above and below the town had been trying to get him to 
come across all morning, but they did not know his sig- 
nal and he would not come. 

Our man in crossing towards us had taken a course 
which kept his boat out of view, and as he went back 
he kept behind an island until well toward his own 
shore and out of range. As the boat passed out from 
behind the island they discovered us and commenced 
shooting, but we were too far away to fear their bul- 
lets. 

We landed safely and then, having passed over 
what was considered our greatest difficulty, began to 
think about other troubles still ahead. Independence 
was full of Federal soldiers. Lone Jack and Pleasant 
Hill were no better. Roving bands of foragers and 
scouts kept the country between closely patroled. We 
had but one hope and that was that we might chance to 
fall in with Quantrell on one of his raids. William Hill, 
a cousin of ours, lived near Pleasant Hill, and if we 
could reach him, we felt sure he could tell us when 
Quantrell might be expected in that locality. We left 
the river and walked cautiously through timber and 
fields, stopping at farm houses for food only after 
night, sleeping on the ground without blankets and 
finalty reached Hill's place. He was at heart a strong 
southern man, but had managed to deceive the Union 
soldiers and his Union neighbors. We asked about 
Quantrell. He informed us that some of his neighbors 
belonged to QuantreH's band, and that Quantrell was at 
that time in camp about three miles away. We did not 
know Quantrell nor any of his men and asked Hill to 
go with us to the camp. He objected. Said that he had 
acted the part of a northern man so completely that 
Quantrell had threatened him, believing him to be in 
earnest. We told him if he went with us he would have 



Home For Recruits 143 

nothing to fear. He seemed not to understand how this 
could be if we knew neither Quantrell nor his men. 
We then explained that Jesse and Frank James were 
with Quantrell and that they lived in Clay County 
near the home of our sister, and were well acquainted 
with us by reputation. 

Hill finally consented and saddled horses for all 
and took us to the camp. He introduced us to Quan- 
trell and then in turn we met Frank and Jesse James, 
Cole Younger and his brothers and other leaders of 
the company. We explained Hill's relation to us; that 
we had known him from his birth in Tennessee and 
that he was wdth us at heart. They told him to go 
home and fear nothing from them. Hill took his horses 
and left well satisfied. 

The whole company remained in camp some days, 
and during the time one of Hill's neighbors gave 
Brother James a fine mare, bridle and saddle. I have 
always thought that Hill furnished the mone}^ for this 
equipment and gave it in the name of a trusted neigh- 
bor. It was not long until a fine outfit was presented 
to me. I took it and said nothing. I liked the horse, 
but did not like the saddle. It was an old dragoon 
government saddle with brass mounted horns both be- 
fore and behind. 

About this time a detachment of Shelby's men 
came north on a scout. Quantrell joined them and at- 
tacked Pleasant Hill and drove the Union forces to 
Lone Jack. He followed and defeated them at Lone 
Jack and drove them out of that section of the country. 

We returned to Pleasant Hill and were received 
with great cordiality by the people. The women baked 
cakes and pies and sent them into camp, which 
were fully appreciated. At the pay office which 
had been maintained by the Federal officers we found 



144 Recollections of a Pioneer 

large quantities of greenbacks of small denominations 
lying on desks and tables and scattered upon the floor. 
It was counted of little value at that time and in that 
community. One dollar of Confederate money was 
worth five of the governments' greenbacks. 

After a rest, the scouting parties that had joined 
Quantrell in the attack upon Pleasant Hill and Lone 
Jack, started south. Quantrell traveled with us about 
three days, and I seriously contemplated joining that 
band and remaining in Missouri. I mentioned the mat- 
ter to Brother James and he discouraged the idea. He 
said winter was coming on and the camp equipment 
was inadequate, besides he preferred that I should go 
into the regular service. I took his advice, and have 
since had many reasons to be thankful to him for it. 
We finally reached a place in Arkansas called Horse- 
head, where winter quarters had been established. At 
that time I did not belong to the army, as my term of 
enlistment had expired, but at Horsehead I enlisted 
for three years, or during the war. My horse, saddle 
and bridle belonged to me, hence my enlistment was in 
the cavalry. During the early part of the winter the 
officers decided that as horse feed was so scarce, the 
horses should be sent into Texas to graze through the 
winter, promising that each man's horse should be re- 
stored to him in the spring. I parted with my horse 
reluctantly, but of course, after enlistment had to obey 
orders. I never saw him again and when spring came 
I was compelled to enter the infantry. Brother James 
and many others were in the same condition. 

We were assigned to a company of Missouri 
troops. Our captain's name was Miller. His home was 
in northeast Missouri. Our first lieutenant's name was 
Miller also, and his home was in Burr Oak Bottom, Kan- 
sas. 



Home For Recruits 145 

The first business in the spring was the guarding of 
the Hue across Arkansas from Fort Smith to Helena. 
We had our portion and did our work. Later General 
Holmes was given command and marched us across the 
state and, I have always thought, very foolishly at- 
tacked the fortifications at Helena. The river was full 
of gunboats and if he had been successful he could not 
have held the place. He was repulsed, however, and 
his troops badly cut up. The Missouri troops declared 
they would serve no longer under Holmes. Whether 
for this or some other reason, he was removed and 
command given to General Drayton. 

I do not remember that Drayton did anything but 
keep us lying in camp, drilling every day, with now and 
then a dress parade, with all the women and children 
in the country invited to come and see us. This was 
very distasteful to us. We felt that we were not there to 
be raced around over the hot sand in the hot sun just to 
be looked at. Aside from this we had a pretty good 
time cock-fighting, horse racing and playing seven-up 
for tobacco. 

General Price came back to us about Christmas 
and the Missouri boys planned a great celebration. 
Christmas day about five hundred took their guns and 
marched around to the headquarters of each colonel 
and made him treat or take a bumping against a tree. 
We then marched up to General Drayton's headquar- 
ters. His negro cooks and waiters were getting supper. 
They were soon cleared away and the general was 
called out. He backed up against a tree as though he 
expected to be shot, but he soon found we were only 
bent upon a little fun. The boys produced their fid- 
dles and set to playing. Then they sang and danced 
and now and then we fired a volley just to make the 
woods ring. The General seemed to enjoy the fun and 



146 Recollections of a Pioneer 

told the boys to play on the bones. One quickly re- 
plied that we had been playing on bones all winter and 
pretty dry bones, too. The General saw the joke and 
smiled good-naturedly. 

We next moved up and took possession of a six- 
gun battery. The muskets were not noisy enough. The 
first round brought Drayton. He ordered us to stop, 
but we told him it was Christmas and paid no attention 
to him. He sent for General Price, and as the General 
and his body guard rode up we ceased firing and set to 
waving hats and cheering. "Pap," as we called General 
Price, told us we could have our Christmas fun but we 
must not disturb the battery. That was enough. We 
always did what "Pap" told us to do. If he said fight 
we fought, and when he said run we ran. 

It was too early to stop the fun, so we decided to go 
over and see the Arkansas boys who were camped 
about two miles away. We found on arriving that the 
bo3^s who w^ore straps on their shoulders had organ- 
ized a dance in a big tent and invited the girls for 
miles around. The dance was in full swing. The 
guards around the tent halted us and asked if we had 
a pass. We said "Yes, this is Christmas," and passed 
on. We made no noise or disturbance, but walked 
quietly up around the tent, and each man cut himself a 
window so he could look in on the scene. The shoul- 
der straps were furious and came swarming out like 
hornets. We laughed at them and told them to go on 
with the dance, but they would not do it and sent for 
General Price. We learned this and started back, and 
met the General going toward the Arkansas camp and 
cheered him wildly. He passed on and said nothing, 
though I am sure he knew we were the boys he was af- 
ter. We went into camp and nothing was ever said 
about our frolic. 



CHAPTER XIV. 
War in Arkansas. 

Some time early in the year 1863, Price moved his 
forces to Little Rock. The Federal forces under Gen- 
eral Steele approached from Springfield, and Price be- 
gan preparations to receive them. His army was much 
inferior to the attacking force and every precaution 
was taken to give us the advantage. We crossed to the 
north side of the river from Little Rock and dug a 
trench in the shape of a rainbow touching the river 
above and below the town and more than a mile in 
length. The enemy approached within two miles of 
our trench and halted and remained in that position 
nearly a week. We had little rest during that time. The 
drum tapped every morning at four o'clock and we had 
to crawl out and fall into our ditch, where we re- 
mained until the danger of an early morning attack was 
over and then got out for breakfast. 

On the seventh day, if I remember correctly, the 
Federals broke camp and marched ten miles down the 
river and commenced building a pontoon bridge. Price 
sent his cavalry and artillery down to visit them, but 
the fire was not heavy enough and the bridge was built 
in spite of their best efforts. We were called out of 
our trenches in the meantime and taken across the river 
on a foot bridge built upon small boats. When we 
reached Little Rock I was surprised to find everything 
gone. Ox teams and mule teams were strung out for 
miles hauling our freight and army supplies. We 
marched behind with orders to protect the train and I 



148 Recollections of a Pioneer 

thought we would certainly be attacked, but we were 
not. Steele made Little Rock his headquarters for the 
summer. 

About fifty miles south of Little Rock we went in- 
to camp. At that time I belonged to Clark's brigade. 
Mercer was our Colonel, Gaines our major and Miller 
our captain. Clark's division was ordered to go down 
on the Mississippi River below the mouth of the Arkan- 
sas and destroy steam boats that were carrying sup- 
plies from St. Louis to Vicksburg. The siege was going 
on at that time, and the Federal troops were being sup- 
plied with provision largely by way of the river. There 
were two regiments in the division and we had with us 
a six gun battery. We reached the river and concealed 
ourselves at a point where the current approached 
close to the west bank, judging, by the low stage of the 
riv.er, that the boats would be compelled to follow 
the current. We had not been in hiding very long un- 
til we saw seven boats steaming their way down the 
river with a small gunboat trailing along behind as 
guard or convoy. When the foremost boat reached a 
point near the shore and directly opposite us, it was 
halted and ordered ashore. There were soldiers on the 
boat and they ran out on deck and fired at us. We re- 
turned the fire and cleared the deck the first round. 
The next round was from our battery. The range was 
easy and one ball struck her boilers. The hot water 
and steam flew in every direction. She headed for 
the farther shore and drifted on a sand bar. The sol- 
diers leaped from the boat and swam for their lives. 

The six other boats received very much the same 
treatment. They were all disabled and sunk or drifted 
helplessly down the river. The little gunboat was help- 
less also. When the attack began it was under a bank 
and had to steam back up the river before it could get 



War in Arkansas 149 

in range to shoot at us. When the Httle bull dog got 
back in range it threw shot and shell into the timber 
like a hail storm, but our work had been done and we 
were out and gone. The volley fired from the deck of 
the first boat wounded one man, John Harper, in the 
knee. That was our only damage. 

We then went some fifteen miles farther down and 
from the levee crippled two more transports. From 
there we followed the levee until we could hear the big 
guns at Vicksburg. That was July 3d, 1863. Next day 
about noon the heavy artillery ceased and we soon 
learned that Pemberton had surrendered. On July 5th 
cavalry sent across the river from Vicksburg were 
scouring the Arkansas side of the river, looking for 
"bushwhackers who had cannon with them." We fled 
back into the pine knobs and escaped easily. 

I have been unable to recall further active service 
in 1863. We remained inactive and in camp most of 
the tiine and the monotonous life failed to impress its 
small events upon my memory. 

Active operations in 1864 began, as well as I re- 
call, about the first of March, when Steele left his sta- 
tion at Little Rock and started for Shreveport. We 
understood that his army numbered forty thousand 
men. It was certainly much larger than Price's army. 
As soon as it was learned that Steele had started south 
Price broke camp and set out to meet him, not with the 
idea of entering into an engagement, but for the pur- 
pose of harassing and delaying him. I do not remem- 
ber where the two armies first came in contact with 
each other, but I recall distinctly the weeks of scouting, 
marching here and there, skirmishing now and then 
with detachments of Steele's army, and retreating when 
reinforcements appeared. The infantry kept always 
in front, resisting progress at every point, while the 



150 Recollections of a Pioneer 

cavalry under Marmaduke and Shelby went to the rear 
and threatened the long train of supplies. They made 
dashing attacks upon the line at every available point, 
fighting only long enough to force Steele to prepare for 
battle and then rapidly retreating. In this way Steele's 
men were kept on the run, forward to fight the infantry 
and backward to resist the cavalry. At night our men 
would frequently push a battery up near his camp and 
throw shells in upon him all night. I do not know how 
fast Steele traveled, but he must have considered five 
miles a day good progress. 

During this time Banks was approaching Shreve- 
port up Red River with sixty thousand men, and the 
object was to prevent a union of these forces. Eight 
gunboats were also making their way up the river. 

General Dick Taylor had about ten thousand Texas 
and Louisiana troops and he was resisting the approach 
of Banks. As I remember it, Taylor had risked several 
engagements with Banks, but had been compelled to 
fall back each time. Finally he sent to Price for help. 
Price decided to employ his cavalry upon Steele so he 
sent his infantry, about five thousand, to Taylor. That 
included me, as my horse had never been brought back 
from pasture in Texas. 

We made a forced march of one hundred and fifty 
miles to Shreveport, and then hurried down Red River 
to Sabine Cross Roads. We joined Taylor and on the 
eighth day of April attacked Banks and defeated him. 
He retreated to Pleasant Hill. After the battle we took 
a few hours' rest, and when night came Taylor ordered 
us to cook one day's rations ahead. About nine o'clock 
we were ordered out and placed like blood hounds up- 
on Bank's tracks. They were easy to follow. The 
tracks were fresh, blood was plentiful and dead and 
wounded negroes lay now and then alongside the 



War in Arkansas 151 

road. We marched all night and until twelve o'clock 
next day. About that hour we came to a small stream 
about two miles from Pleasant Hill. There we stopped 
and had a drink and ate a lunch. 

About two o'clock in the afternoon we were thrown 
into battle line and ordered to march on to Pleasant 
Hill. Banks had received reinforcements and was 
waiting for us. We passed through a body of timber 
and there encountered the Zouaves who were hid be- 
hind trees. One of them shot and killed our cook, Al 
St. John, who was from Platte County, Missouri. This 
was a bad start for us, but we routed the Zouaves and 
marched on through the timber to an open cotton field 
which lay between us and Pleasant Hill. When we 
passed out of the timber we could see the town and 
Bank's army lying in gullies and behind fences waiting 
for us. 

When we got within range firing began. I do not 
remember which side opened, but I know the fight 
was open and in earnest. Our line was about a 
mile long and for a time each side stood firm. Directly 
I heard a yell up at the north end of our line. It was 
too indistinct to be understood and for a time I did not 
comprehend it, but it came closer and closer by regi- 
ments one after the other until our regiment was or- 
dered to charge. Then we took up the yell and dashed 
forward. The yell passed on down the line until our 
whole force was on the move. We routed the enemy 
and drove them back into the city where some of them 
crept under old out houses to escape the bayonet. Then 
our line came to a stop. Their reinforcements came in 
from the rear with a yell and went after us. It looked 
like the whole sixty thousand had suddenly sprung 
from the earth. We thought we had gained a great vic- 
tory when really we had only driven in the pickets. As 



152 Recollections of a Pioneer 

they came the yell went up on the other side. We stood 
right there and tried to whip the whole army. We 
stopped the yell but had to go. As we turned to go back 
I saw a battery horse running across the battle ground 
with his harness on and his entrails dragging the 
ground. Several other horses were running with sad- 
dles on their sides, showing their riders had been shot 
and in falling had turned the saddles. Those horses 
were all killed by bullets from one side or the other 
before they got off the battlefield. 

We fell back about two hundred yards and ral- 
lied and made a second attack. By that time Banks was 
moving away from us. When the guns ceased suf- 
ficiently to enable me to hear the report of my own 
gun, I could hear also Bank's baggage and trap wagons 
rattling and banging out of Pleasant Hill. They went 
like a cyclone and that ended the bloody battle. We 
marched back two miles to the little creek where we 
had stopped at noon for lunch and camped for the 
night. Next morning Taylor's cavalry started in pur- 
suit and saw Banks safely back to New Orleans. There 
Banks lost his job. At the same time the cavalry 
started in pursuit of Banks, the infantry began a 
forced march to Shreveport to meet Price and Steele. 
When we reached Shreveport neither Price nor Steele 
had arrived and we did not halt, but continued on to- 
ward Little Rock. About forty miles back on the road 
we came upon Price camped by the roadside, with 
Steele penned up in Camden, a town on the Ouachita 
River. Steele had gone into an evacuated Confeder- 
ate fort to allow his army to rest, and Price had sur- 
rounded him except upon the side next the river. It 
was about two o'clock in the afternoon when our forces 
joined Price. The boj^s were all well and in fine spirits 



War in Arkansas 153 

and had many things to tell us and were greatly inter- 
ested in our experience on the Mississippi and at 
Pleasant Hill. 

About five o'clock in the afternoon Price rolled 
two guns up on a hill and fired a few shots into Steele's 
camp, but got no answer. He ceased firing and nothing 
more was done that night. Next morning Steele and 
his whole army were gone, and the bridge across the 
river was burned. A temporary bridge was hurriedly 
built and the infantry crossed and started in pursuit. 
We followed all day and all night and overtook them 
about ten o'clock the following morning. I understood 
that our cavalry had followed by forced marches also 
and had gone ahead of Steele. At any rate, Steele, in 
place of following the main road, switched off and 
went about three miles down into the Saline River bot- 
tom. The river was very high and all the sloughs and 
ditches were full of w^ater. When we came up Steele 
was throwing his pontoon bridge over the river and 
his forces were digging ditches and felhng trees to keep 
us back until they could get across. 

Marmaduke made the first attack, as I remember, 
and charged the rude breast-works. He drove the troops 
behind them back into the level bottom and there the 
Arkansas infantry was set to work. They forced the 
hue gradually back toward the river, and after an 
hour's fighting we were sent to relieve them. Our at- 
tack began about twelve o'clock in a pouring rain. They 
would make desperate stands behind rail fences and in 
clumps of timber and we sometimes had hard work to 
dislodge them. When driven from one point they 
would immediately take up another. This would force 
us to maneuver through the mud and water to get at 
them again. The last strong resistance was made about 
four o'clock in the afternoon. The forces fighting us 



154 Recollections of a Pioneer 

had managed to get into a body of timber on the north 
side of an open cotton field. A high rail fence separ- 
ated the field from the timber and this fence made ex- 
cellent breast works. In charging we were compelled 
to. cross the field exposed to their fire. We made a run 
and when about half across the bullets came so thick 
we could go no further. We were ordered to lie down. 
Every man dropped on his face with his head toward 
the enemy. Lying in this position we fired upon them 
and turned upon our backs to reload. We fought in 
this fashion until Taylor's infantry relieved us. 

When Taylor's fresh troops dashed over us with a 
yell the forces behind the fence wavered and finally 
ran, but it was then about time for them to run. They 
had held us until most of the army had crossed the 
river. They then made their escape and cut the pon- 
toon bridge behind them. We secured most of their 
heavy guns as they had to keep them back to use on us. 
The battle was ended and I was glad of it. I never 
passed a more dreadful da^^ With rain pouring down 
from above, with sloughs waist deep to wade, and with 
mud ankle deep over the whole battle field our con- 
dition may be easily imagined. Besides this we were 
black as negroes when we went into camp. In biting 
off the ends of our paper cartridges the loose powder 
would stick to our wet faces and become smeared over 
them. Our gun sticks were black with exploded powder, 
and in handling them with wet hands we became com- 
pletely covered with grime. I shall never forget the 
sorry looking, miserable, muddy, rain soaked and be- 
draggled soldiers that came into camp that night. 

We were not the only men who suffered that day. 
While we were lying on the field. Price ordered a bat- 
tery to our assistance. The captain pulled his batter^^ 
down the road and ran into a negro regiment concealed 



War in Arkansas 155 

in the timber. The battery boys dismounted and were 
getting ready for business when the negroes charged 
and captured the battery. About half the company 
swam a slough and got away. Tlie other half were ta- 
ken prisoners. They had no sooner laid down their 
arms than the negroes shot and killed them all. As we 
lay upon the field we could see and hear but little, but 
this massacre occurred in plain view from where we 
lay. As soon as we were relieved a portion of our 
forces immediately attacked the negro regiment and 
without mercy killed and wounded about half of them 
and recaptured the guns; but the negroes had shot the 
horses and that rendered the guns useless. 

Next day I was detailed to help bury the dead. 
Several large wagons were provided with six mules 
and a driver to each wagon. Four men to each wagon 
loaded the bodies in. The end gate was taken out of 
the bed. Two men stood on each side of a body. One 
on each side held an arm and one each side a leg. The 
second swing the body went in head foremost. When 
the wagon was full it was driven off to where another 
squad had prepared a long trench into which the bodies 
were thrown and covered up. It required most of the 
day to complete our work. 

The wounded were removed from the field and 
cared for temporarily as they fell. The flight of the 
Federal forces made it impossible for them to care for 
their wounded immediately, so they were taken up by 
our men and given such attention as we could give 
them. 

Next day was the doctors' day. I was ordered to 
go along and assist. Three doctors went together, 
and over each wounded man they held a consultation. 
If two of them said amputate, it was done at once. 
When they came to a man with a wound on his head 



156 Recollections of a Pioneer 

they would smile and say, "We had better not ampu- 
tate in this case." It seemed to me they made many 
useless amputations. 

One doctor carried a knife with a long thin blade. 
He would draw this around the limb and cut the flesh 
to the bone. The second had a saw with which he 
sawed the bone. The third had a pair of forceps with 
which he clasped the blood vessels, and a needle with 
which he sewed the skin over the wound. 

The first man I saw them work upon was a Union 
soldier. All three said his leg must come off. They be- 
gan administering chloroform, but he was a very hard 
subject and fought it bitterly. They asked me to hold 
his head, and I did so. As soon as he was quiet they 
went to work on him. When I saw how they cut and 
slashed I let his head loose. I thought if he wanted to 
wake up and fight them he should have a fair chance. 
I told the doctors that I did not go to war to hold men 
while they butchered them; that I had done all to that 
man that my contract called for and that I thought he 
was well paid for his trip. I was in real earnest about 
it, but the doctors laughed at me and said they would 
soon teach me to be a surgeon. 



CHAPTER XV. 
Back Into Missouri. 

I have no distinct recollection of leaving the 
camp on Saline River, nor do I recall the military oper- 
ations that followed the battle I have just described. 
I know that Steele went on south and that Price did not 
follow him. Steele and Banks were both well out of 
the country, and it is probable that we passed a few 
weeks of idleness and inactivity. At all events, my 
memory, upon which I depend entirely, fails to account 
for the events immediately following the experience I 
have related, and my next vivid recollection begins at 
White River, where we were swimming our horses 
across on our march back into Missouri. Price, Shelby 
and Marmaduke were all together. We passed through 
Dover, a little town where John H. Bennett, a cousin of 
mine, who was captain of one of our companies, lived 
and thence on to Ironton. 

There we found about two thousand government 
troops, well fortified just north of town, in a little valley 
at the foot of a mountain. They came out and met us 
two miles from Ironton where we had a skirmish and 
they went back into their den. We marched into town 
and camped. It was reported among the soldiers that 
Price was having ladders made with which to scale the 
walls, but I did not believe it. Such an attack would 
have been successful in all probability, but it would 
have cost Price many men and I was sure he had none 
to spare. Toward night he had two field pieces rolled 
up on top of the mountain by hand and began to drop 
shells into their camp. They had neglected to fortify 
the heavens above them and Price was taking advan- 



158 Recollections of a Pioneer 

tage of their neglect. When a shell dropped into camp 
you could see them running away in every direction 
looking for a place to hide. 

Some time in the night they broke through our 
picket line and marched ten miles to a railroad station 
where they were loaded upon flat cars and taken to St. 
Louis. Price continued on toward St. Louis and great- 
ly alarmed that city. Troops were hurried from east 
and west to its defense, but Price had no such plan. His 
sole idea was to threaten and draw troops from other 
places to its protection. 

On the way up from fronton we captured two or 
three hundred militia at every county seat. For all that 
could be guessed from his actions, Price intended to 
march directly into Jefferson City, but shortly before he 
reached there lie turned to the west and went to Boon- 
ville. There he captured quite a large force of Fed- 
eral troops and a steam ferry boat. Marmaduke with 
his brigade crossed the river and marched up the north 
side toward Glasgow, while Price and Shelby kept to 
the south side. Price put a guard on the boat and 
compelled the crew to run it up the river in conjunc- 
tion with his forces. At Glasgow we captured some- 
thing like a thousand troops. Marmaduke then re- 
crossed the river and joined Price. 

At Glasgow Lieutenant Evans got permission for 
himself and twenty-five men to return to Buchanan 
County to see their friends. I was one of the twenty- 
five. From Glasgow we went to Keytesville where we 
met Bill Anderson, the noted "Bushwhacker," with 
about one hundred men. Anderson and his men ac- 
companied us to Brunswick, where we learned that 
there were about three hundred militia at Carrollton. 
Anderson said they were dreadfully afraid of "bush- 
whackers," and that he believed the twenty-five of us 



Back Into Missouri 159 

could run them out of town, but he sent fifteen of his 
men with us. We left Brunswick in the night and at four 
o'clock next morning were a mile north of Carrollton. 
There we stopped to wait for daylight. When it began 
to grow light we all rode together until we encountered 
the pickets. As soon as they saw us they turned and 
galloped into town as fast as their horses could carry 
them without firing a shot. This enabled us to get in- 
to the town before any alarm was given, as our horses 
were as fast as those ridden by the pickets. We rode 
in with a whoop and a yell, dismounted and got behind 
a fence. The fifteen bushwhackers ran around to the 
west side of town in plain view of the militia camp and 
commenced firing. Lieutenant Evans sent a man ask- 
ing them to surrender. The colonel asked who the at- 
tacking force was. The man told him it was Jo Shelby. 
The colonel sent word back that he would surrender in 
one hour. Evans returned the messenger with direc- 
tions to the Colonel that if he did not surrender in five 
minutes he would open the artillery upon hiin. The 
colonel decided to surrender and marched his men out 
into an open place and had them stack arms and march 
away to a safe distance. We closed in and immediately 
took possession of the arms and marched the Federals 
into the court house and locked them up. They had sur- 
rendered believing we were merely the detachment de- 
tailed to come and receive the surrnder and were great- 
ly chagrined when they found that we constituted the 
entire force that had attacked them. It was all over by 
six o'clock in the morning. 

We cooked our breakfast upon their fires and 
out of their provisions. The town took a holiday, as it 
was strongly southern in sentiment, and so did we. In 



160 Recollections of a Pioneer 

the afternoon we engaged all the barbers in town, and 
as we were coming back home to see our girls we had 
considerable shopping to do. 

The ferry boat, still under order of General Price, 
had come up the river and we sent a messenger down 
to stop it, and late in the evening marched our prison- 
ers down and loaded them on. We also hauled along 
all the provisions, guns and equipment and sent the 
whole across to Price. 

Anderson's men left us and returned to Brunswick, 
and we camped for the night on Waukenda Creek, two 
miles west of Carrollton. Early next morning we 
moved on and by noon were in the hills north of Rich- 
mond and at night were in camp at Watkins' woolen 
mills in Clay County, two miles east of the home of 
my sister, whom I have fequently mentioned. 
Watkins gave us a cordial welcome, dressed a 
shoat and a sheep and brought them out to us and 
otherwise showed us many kindnesses. Next day we 
visited Mrs. Wilson and the following day completed 
our journey and camped in the brush in Tremont 
Township. 

Everything seemed quiet, but we observed great 
discretion and did not venture from camp in the day- 
time. After remaining on the east side of Platte for 
about ten days without being molested, we crossed the 
river and camped in the hills along Pigeon Creek. Wall 
Brinton, Harvey and Bennett Reece, George Berryhill, 
and Joe, Bill and John Evans, boys in our party, 
all lived on that side of the river. Our camp 
remained there some two weeks without being 
molested. During the time we captured three soldiers 
a few miles west of Agency. They were on picket, sent 
out from St. Joseph, and in patroling the road came 
very close to our camp. As we did not need any 



Back Into Missouri 161 

pickets we took them in. One of them volunteered to 
join us, and as we knew him we allowed him to do so 
and to keep his gun. The other two were kept pris- 
oners and their guns given to Bennett Reece and Har- 
vey McCanse, two recruits, who had joined us. 

Shortly after this our camp was moved back to the 
east side of the Platte and located in the bluffs near 
the home of Joab Shultz. Here we remained in seclu- 
sion, keeping the captured pickets as prisoners to pre- 
vent them from returning to St. Joseph and disclosing 
that we were in the country. We had little difficulty 
in keeping our presence from the knowledge of Pen- 
ick and his men, as most of the residents of the com- 
munity were our friends. Bad luck, however, befell 
us. John Utz and Billy Jones, hearing that we were at 
home and desiring to go south with us on our return, 
came to my old home to ascertain our whereabouts. My 
sister, who lived on the place, would tell them nothing 
but referred them to James Jeffreys. Instead of going 
to James Jeffreys, they went to George Jeffreys, a 
strong Union man, and asked him if he knew where 
Gibson and Brinton were. Jeffreys replied that he did 
not know they were in the country. Jones said, "Yes, 
they are here with twenty-five or thirty men." Failing 
to learn of us from Jeffreys they returned to the home 
of my sister, where, during their absence. Cousin Mar- 
garet Gibson had arrived, and as she knew Utz and 
Jones, told them how to find us. 

George Jeffreys, that "good Union man," lost no 
time in communicating with Penick, for next day all 
roads were full of soldiers. Cousin Margaret Gibson 
came running to our camp and told us the soldiers were 
looking for us. We released our prisoners and started. 
When well out on the road we agreed upon a meeting 
place and separated, thus leaving each man to look out 



162 Recollections of a Pioneer 

for himself and at the same time taking responsibihty 
for any one else off of each man. This was thought to 
be wise, as our little band was no match for the eneiny, 
bue the enemy were not acquainted with the by paths 
through the woods and brush, and by going singly we 
were at liberty to dodge to better advantage. Jones and 
Utz came to join us shortly after we broke camp, and 
undertook to follow. Penick's men caught them and 
made them prisoners. 

Every man showed up at the meeting place a mile 
below Agency. There we crossed to the west side of 
the river and stopped for a hasty lunch and to see if we 
were being followed. Seeing nothing of the enemy we 
concluded they had taken another course and that we 
were safe in remaining in the neighborhood over night. 
In the afternoon we procured flour and bacon from 
Jim Patee, where we were all given a square meal, 
after which we went to old man Recce's for the night 
in order that the Reece boys might say farewell to their 
father and mother. 

In the morning early we started, crossing the Pigeon 
Creek hills and making our way south. At Isaac 
Farris' blacksmith shop we stopped and got horse-shoe 
nails and a shoeing hammer. I shall never forget also 
that Mr. Farris brought out a stack of pies which 
seemed to me to be a foot high. Although I had been 
at home a month where I had feasted bountifully, pies 
still tasted good. I had lived on hard tack or worse so 
long that I felt I could never again satisfy my appetite 
with good things to eat. 

We next stopped at the home of Pleas Yates, where 
we found Captain Reynolds, an officer in Penick's 
regiment. He had left his company and was visiting 
his family. He had been very active against the south- 
ern people in the community and, as we believed, justly 



Back Into Missouri 163 

deserved their censure, if the word hatred would not 
better describe their sentiments. As we rode up Rey- 
nolds came to the door, the ivory shining on the pistols 
in his belt. He seemed to think we were his own men. 
Lieutenant Evans ordered four men, myself and three 
others, to go in and arrest him. Reynolds remained in 
the door until he saw us dismount. He seemed to step 
behind the door, but in fact he made a dash for the 
back door to make his escape. I saw him pass out and 
gave the alarm. Evans ordered the men to follow and 
commanded them not to take him alive. I threw the 
gate open and the boys galloped into the yard. It 
seemed to me that Yates had ten acres of land fenced 
off into small lots about his place, but they delayed us 
only a short time. The first man to reach the fence 
would jump from his horse and throw it down, the 
remainder would ride forward. All this time the boys 
were shooting at the running captain as fast as they 
could discharge their guns and reload them. 

We had with us a tall, swarthy Kentuckian, with 
black hair and long black whiskers, whose name I have 
forgotten, and who looked, in his rough soldier clothing, 
more like a bear than a man. He was the first to reach 
Reynolds. As he came up Reynolds pulled a silver 
mounted navy from his belt, but the Kentuckian was 
too quick for him and had a holster pointed at his head. 
In an instant Reynolds dropped to his knees, threw up 
his hands and began to beg. The Kentuckian disobeyed 
orders and took him prisoner. He said if Reynolds 
had continued to show fight he would have killed him, 
but he could not shoot a man who was begging for his 
life. He brought the Captain back and, as he was then 
our prisoner, his life was safe, for no man with whom I 
ever served ever mistreated a prisoner. 



164 Recollections of a Pioneer 

When we reached the house Reynolds' wife and 
the Yates family came out begging and crying pitifully 
for his life. We had no time to stay and argue or ex- 
plain. We feared the reports of our guns had reached 
the ears of Reynold's company and that they would 
come upon us at any moment. Wall Brinton told the 
Captain he must go with us, and ordered him to get 
behind him on his horse. The captain did so amid the 
wailing and crying of the women and we started away. 
Reynolds' wife said she would go too, but I told her 
she could not do so, as we rode through thick brush, and 
that she could do no good by going. 

As we rode along Reynolds said he feared we were 
Bill Childs and his band of bushwhackers, and that if 
Childs had found him he would not have been permit- 
ted to surrender. He expressed the fear also that his 
life would not be safe even as our prisoner, if Childs 
should fall in with us. I assured him that Childs was 
not as bad as he thought him to be, and that he need 
have no fear. But even this did not satisfy him. On 
further inquiry, I learned that Child's wife had been 
taken by the Union forces and placed in jail, and that 
Childs charged Reynolds with responsibility for this 
act. Reynolds' terror of Childs made me believe, with- 
out knowing the facts, that the charge was probably 
well founded. 

Evans and I rode along with Brinton and Reynolds 
and allowed the remainder of the boys to get consider- 
ably ahead of us and completely out of sight. When 
the proper time came we turned out of the road into 
the thick woods and stopped. Evans then told Rey- 
nolds if he would go to St. Joseph and have John Utz 
and Billy Jones released from prison and resign his 
office and go back to his family and stay there and be- 
have himself we would turn him loose. The Captain 



Back Into Missouri 165 

was more than willing to do all this. Evans then asked 
him to hold up his hand and be sworn. I told Evans 
that was not necessary, as I would vouch for the good 
conduct of the prisoner. Evans then set him free and I 
never saw a more grateful man in my life. We parted 
good friends and I learned after the war was over 
that Reynolds kept his promise, except that he was un- 
able to secure the release of Utz and Jones, as that was 
out of his power. In all other things he was faithful. 
I have heard that he often said to those who wanted 
him to return to the service that Watt Gibson had 
saved his life, and that but for him both his company 
and his family would have been without his services; 
and that he did not propose to break the promise to 
which he owed his life. 

When we overtook the boys and they found we 
had released Reynolds, it required hard work to keep 
them from going back after him, but we finally pre- 
vailed and the whole squad moved on into Platte Coun- 
ty. We camped about two miles east of Camden Point 
and remained a few days. Mose Cunningham and a man 
by the name of Linville joined us as recruits. During our 
stay there some of the boys went over to New Market 
and spent a portion of the time. The day before we ex- 
pected to leave, Brinton and I went over to Alfred 
Jack's, as I wanted to see his daughter, Mollie, before I 
left. We rode up to the yard fence and there in front 
of the house lay a dead man — a Federal soldier. We 
called Mr. Jack and asked him how the man came to 
be there. He said that some hours before a party of 
Union militia and a few men that he took to be Con- 
federates had passed his house shooting at each other, 
but that he did not know anyone had been killed. This 



166 Recollections of a Pioneer 

was the first news we had that the Federals were in the 
community. The skirmish was between some of our 
men and a scouting party from the other side. 

Mr. Jack was greatly disturbed and feared that he 
would be accused of the man's death, and thought of 
leaving home. I told him not to do that. He was en- 
tirely innocent and the soldiers knew the man had been 
killed in the skirmish. We helped him carry the body 
into his yard and started for camp. I knew the 
news of the fight would soon stir up all the Federals 
in the community, and, though I missed seeing the 
young lady, I was glad I learned of the trouble in time 
to get back to camp. By noon the roads everywhere 
west of us were full of soldiers. We got glimpses of 
them now and then from the hill on which we were 
camped. 

We prepared our small camp equipment for travel- 
ing, saddled our horses and crossed to the east side of 
the Platte. Here we selected a good place to be at- 
tacked and waited two or three hours. Either they 
could not find us or did not want to find us, for they 
did not appear. 

Late in the afternoon we resumed our journey to 
the south, and passed out of Platte and through Clay 
County without difficulty. The Missouri River was 
again the great obstacle, as there were a number of us 
on this trip. Richfield, the point where we had pre- 
viously crossed, was passed by, and we reached the 
river bottom some miles below that place, just at night. 
We cooked and ate supper, and about eight o'clock 
started for the river, not knowing how we would get 
across. As we passed through a paw-paw thicket an 
amusing incident occurred. A man called "halt." As 
our horses were making a great deal of noise we did 
not hear either his first or second call. He called again 



Back Into Missouri 167 

in a loud voice, "Halt, third and last time!" We stop- 
ped at once. He said, "Who are you?" Our lieutenant 
answered, "Shelby's men. Who are you?" "I am a 
bushwhacker, by G — ." He then asked if any man in 
our company lived near this place. Our lieutenant 
answered that a man with us by the name of Hill lived 
at Richmond. "Tell him to come forward and meet 
me half way." Then the bushwhacker began calling 
to his men to fall in line. Hill went forward and met 
an old acquaintance. Hill asked how many men he 
had. He said he had none; that he was alone, and 
was just running a bluff on us. When Hill and the 
bushwhacker came back to us we all had a jolly laugh. 

We learned from him that Bill Anderson, with 
whom he belonged, was crossing the river with his 
band of bushwhackers about a mile below, and had 
sent him out as a picket. He went down with us and as- 
sured Anderson that we were his friends. The night 
was very dark. Anderson had forty-five men and one 
small skiff. Two men besides the oarsman got into 
the boat, each holding the bridle of his horse. The 
horses were then forced in, one on each side, and the 
skiff put off. It was a long swim for the horses and 
a long wait for the skiff's return, but it was better than 
drifting on cottonwood logs, as we had expected to 
do. With the boat we could all land at the same place. 
Anderson's men had been crossing since early in the 
evening and by midnight all were over and the skiff 
delivered to us. The last of our company reached the 
southern shore just at sun up, and our long journey 
seemed almost over with the river behind us. 

Anderson, after crossing, learned that a Federal 
regiment was in camp at Sibley. He took his forty- 
five men and surprised them. They charged through 
the whole regiment, yelling and shooting, and killed. 



168 Recollections of a Pioneer 

wounded and ran over about twenty of them without 
losing a man. Not satisfied with this they charged 
back, and by that time, the soldiers had collected their 
senses and their guns. Anderson was killed and three 
of his men wounded. I have always believed that An- 
derson and most of his men were half drunk that morn- 
ing. The wounded men were placed in a tent in the 
thick willows and left to the care of sympathizing wom- 
en. Anderson's death left his men without a leader. 
Forty-one remained able to go forward and they joined 
with our thirty. This made a pretty strong squad and 
we traveled the public roads in day light. 

After two days our provisions gave out and we 
separated into little companies of from four to six in 
order to get provisions and horse feed from the resi- 
dents of the country along the road, arranging in ad- 
vance to unite at a given place. I recall an incident of 
this trip which afforded us great amusement. It hap- 
pened near the north bank of the Osage River. Our 
straggling parties had united in order to be together 
at the fording of the river, and as we passed down to- 
ward the river we met a squad of about ten militia. 
Neither party appeared to be suspicious of the other, 
and the militia really thought we were a part of their 
own forces. We rode directly up to them and spoke 
very politely. Asked them where they were going and 
they told us they were going home. Said they had been 
after Price and had driven the d — d old Rebel out of 
Missouri once more and were just getting home. We 
then told them we were a part of Price's forces that 
had not been driven out, and drew our navies on them. 
It was pitiful to see the expressions of terror that came 
over their faces. We made them dismount and disarm 
themselves. They did so with the greatest apparent 
willingness. We destroyed their arms as we had no 



Back Into Missouri 169 

use for them, and made them swear a dreadful oath 
and promise they would never molest Price or any of 
his men again. When they did this they were ordered 
to move on, and seemed greatly rejoiced that their lives 
had been spared. The many bitter experiences I had 
during the war led me to doubt seriously whether we 
would have been as well treated had we been caught 
by our enemies at as great a disadvantage as we had 
them. And some of our men had long been with Bill 
Anderson, about whom the most dreadful stories of 
cruelty have been written — by men I presume who 
never dared to come out of hiding and who wrote the 
terrors of their own cowardly souls rather than any- 
thing real or true. 

It must be understood that I am not attempting a 
defense of Anderson or his men further than to relate 
what their conduct was while I was with them. It was 
by chance only, in the manner I have related, that I 
was thrown with these men on this trip southward, and 
though we met a number of returning squads of mili- 
tia in the same way and always had the advantage of 
them, not a man of them was mistreated other than 
to be disarmed, if that may be called mistreatment. 
The situation may and probably was different when 
these men were attacked or when the enemy was cam- 
paigning against them. I have heard it said that, under 
such circumstances, men who encountered Anderson's 
men had to fight, run or die. 

With more or less difficulty and with many hard- 
ships, but without any incident worth mentioning, we 
made our way to the Arkansas River about twenty 
miles below Fort Smith. The river was running pretty 
full and there was no hope of finding a ferry without 
encountering Federal troops, so we constructed a rude 
raft of Cottonwood logs, got on it and swam our horses 



170 Recollections of a Pioneer 

alongside. This occasioned considerable delay, but 
we got safely over and made our way to Red River, 
where we had much the same experience. We reached 
Price at Clarksville, Texas, and remained with him 
there until January. 

At this time Price's army was all cavalry — just as 
it came off of the raid into Missouri — and consisted of 
about five thousand men. Early in January he moved 
down on Red River about fifty miles distant in order 
to get feed for his horses. Horse feed was scarce about 
Clarksville, but in Red River bottom the cane was 
abundant and the move was made that the horses 
might be grazed upon the cane. Price remained there 
until spring and was still there when Lee surrendered. 
Price and his staff prepared to go to Mexico and seven 
of us — Ruchanan and Platte County neighbor boys — 
saddled our horses, bade him goodby and started for 
home. 



CHAPTER XVI. 
Worse Than War. 

The members of our party were Bill and Jack 
Evans, Curly Smith, Mose Cunningham of Camden 
Point, and one of his neighbors, whose name I do not 
now recall, Wall Brinton and myself. Our horses were 
in good condition, and, though the war was over, we 
supplied ourselves well with arms and ammunition 
and it was well we did, for in all my experiences,! never 
suffered such hardships or came so near losing my life 
as on this journey home after the war was over. We 
traveled a long distance, as it seemed then, and met with 
no difficulty except lack of food. Homes in that coun- 
try were few and far between and when we chanced 
upon a house no one was at home but half starved, 
ragged women and children. They had little to offer 
us and lived themselves by taking their dogs to the 
woods and chasing game or wild hogs which had gone 
through the winter and were unfit for food. They al- 
ways offered to divide, but we did not have the heart 
to accept their offer, and lived on such game as we 
could kill as we traveled along. We always gave these 
women such encouragement as we could, told them 
the war was over and they might soon expect their 
husbands and sons to return to them. We did not say 
if they were still alive, but we and they sadh^ under- 
stood always that such a condition might well have 
been added. 

I do not recall how we got across the Arkansas 
River, but I do remember that in the heavy timber on 
this side we came upon nine men in camp who 
claimed to be "bushwhackers." They invited us to 



172 Recollections of a Pioneer 

join them and as we were tired and hungi^ we did so. 
We rested the remainder of the day and at night they 
told us there was to be a dance — frohc — in the neigh- 
borhood and invited us to go. We did so and witnessed 
a dance in truly Arkansas style. I took no part, but 
enjoj^ed looking on at the others. When we reached 
camp late in the night we all spread our blankets down 
around the fire and slept, feeling the greatest security. 
Next morning three of their men and three of our 
horses were gone. We said nothing, but cooked and 
ate our breakfasts and went back to the cane-brake to 
make further search for the horses. We hunted until 
noon, but could not find them. We returned to the 
camp where the six remaining members of the party 
were and got dinner. After dinner at a given signal 
we drew our navies and made them disarm, which they 
did with much more haste than "bushwhackers" would 
have done. We then asked them to tell where our 
horses were. Three of the six proved to be really our 
friends and knew nothing about the horses. The other 
three were in with the men who had gone. The missing 
horses belonged to Mose Cunningham, Wall Brinton 
and myself. They told us various stories. One said 
that my horse had been taken by the son of a widow 
woman who lived seven miles east. Others said the 
horses had been taken to Fort Smith, twenty miles 
west. We settled the matter by saddling three of their 
horses and riding away. We rode the remainder of 
the day and until two o'clock in the night without any- 
thing to eat. About this hour we came upon a house 
and roused the inmates and told them we must have 
provisions. We got a ham, some flour, sugar and 
coffee and started on. By nine o'clock next morning 
we had gotten far up into the rugged, mountainous 
country where it seemed safe to stop. We dismounted 



Worse Than War 173 

and cooked breakfast, but took the precaution to send 
two men back on the mountain to keep watch. I had 
eaten my breakfast, saddled my horse and was ready 
to go. The other boys were taking more time. I re- 
minded them that we might be followed and that they 
had better make haste. I had scarcely uttered the 
words when the boys on the lookout came running 
down the mountain and before they reached the camp 
a company of soldiers appeared at the crest. They 
commenced throwing hot lead down at us, and we re- 
turned it and kept it up until the boys got into camp 
and grabbed up a handful of provisions. I made a 
breastworks of my horse and stood and shot across 
my saddle until the horse fell at my feet. By that time 
our guns were empty, and without time to reload we ran 
to the mountains, leaving everything but our guns and 
the clothes upon our backs. 

It was disheartening to think that, tired and hun- 
gry as we were, we could not have peace long enough 
to cook and eat the poor provisions secured at the farm 
house the night before, and it was still more disheart- 
ening to reflect upon where the next meal was to be 
found. In spite of this we still had much to be thank- 
ful for. Although left on foot and without provisions, 
we still had our lives and plenty of powder and lead, 
and, in those days when human life was so cheap, 
these were our greatest concern. 

The party attacking did not follow us into the 
brush on the mountain side. We had all the advantage 
there and were desperate enough to have used it to 
any extent and without much conscience, had occa- 
sion required. Our little party was scattered, each 
man taking care of himself. Some kept moving up the 
mountain while some crouched like hunted quails in 
what appeared to be safe hiding places. In a little 



174 Recollections of a Pioneer 

while our pursuers gathered up our horses and the 
fragments of provisions we had left and started away. 
After a long wait the boys began to signal each other 
and shortly we were united. 

It was a long and weary trudge to Fayetteville. 
We were compelled to keep near the main traveled 
road, (which was little better than a bridle path), 
because the country was so rough and the timber so 
heavy that we feared we might lose our way. Our only 
food was the game we killed — squirrels and wild tur- 
key and now and then a deer. This we dressed and 
broiled over a camp fire and ate without bread or salt. 
Hard as this method of subsistence was, it had at least 
one advantage over an army march — we had plenty 
of time. The bare ground had been our resting place 
so long that we were quite accustomed to it, and even, 
without the luxury of a blanket, we slept and rested 
much. 

At Fayetteville we got the first square meal since 
leaving the camp on the Arkansas River, and, as it was 
by no means safe to remain there, we secured such 
provisions as we could carry, and started on, still on 
foot. Above Fayetteville the country became less 
mountainous and, although we always slept in the tim- 
ber, we found little trouble in securing food. We 
crossed Cowskin River and made our way to Granby, 
where the lead mines were located. In a little valley 
shortly out of Granby we found a drove of poor, thin 
horses. They had fared badly during the winter, but 
looked as though they might be able to help us along 
somewhat, so we peeled hickory bark and made halt- 
ers and each man caught himself a horse. We had not 
gone far when we discovered that riding barebacked 



Worse Than War 175 

on the skeleton of a horse was a poor substitute for 
walking, so we turned our horses loose and continued 
the journey on foot. 

Johnstown, a small town in Bates County, is the 
next point, I remember distinctly. A company of mili- 
tia was stationed there and all the people in the coun- 
try round-about were colonized in and near the town. 
Although we knew the militia were there, we took our 
chances on going quite near the town, for we were com- 
pelled to have food. Late in the afternoon we stopped 
at a house in the outskirts of the town and found the 
man and his family at home. The man belonged to 
the militia company, so we held him until the family 
cooked supper for us. After we had eaten we started 
on, taking the man with us to prevent him from report- 
ing on us, advising his family at the same time that if 
we were pursued it would be because some of them 
had informed on us and in that event the man would 
never return. They were glad enough to promise any- 
thing that would give them hope of his return, and we 
felt quite sure we would not be discovered from that 
source. 

We left the house between five and six o'clock and 
had not gone far when we saw three militia men who 
had been out on a scout, riding toward us. When they 
came within a hundred yards or so the leader called 
on us to halt. He asked, "Who are you?" Wall Brinton 
replied, but I do not recall what he said. The leader 
evidently did not believe him for he replied by telling 
us to consider ourselves under arrest. This was, under 
our circumstances, equivalent to opening hostilities, 
so we replied with our navies. One horse fell with the 
man on him. The other two hastily assisted the rider to 
mount behind one of them. They galloped back and 
took another road toward the town. We hurried on to 



176 Recollections of a Pioneer 

a thick grove of timber some distance ahead where 
we could secure protection against the attack that we 
felt sure would later be made upon us. As the news 
of our presence had now gone back to headquarters, 
our prisoner could be of no more service, so we turned 
him loose. We reached the timber and waited and 
watched, but, for some reason, no attempt was made to 
capture us. Darkness soon came on and we lost no 
time in making our escape. At daylight next morning 
we were at Little Grand River, fifteen miles north. 

Shortly after we left our hiding place in the tim- 
ber near Johnstown, it began to rain and rained on us 
all night long as we journeyed. Little Grand River 
was running nearly bank full, but we had to cross. We 
made a raft by binding logs together with hickory bark, 
placed the guns and clothing upon it and pushed out, 
each man holding on at the rear, swimming and push- 
ing. We were soon across and as it seemed to be a 
wild, uninhabited spot, we built a fire and warmed our- 
selves and dried our clothing, and all got a little sleep, 
one man always standing guard. About ten o'clock I 
grew restless and uneasy and awakened the boys and 
told them we had better move on, as that company of 
militia might start early in the morning to follow us 
and, if they did so, they might be expected to appear at 
any time. Wall Rrinton, our captain, agreed to this 
and we made another start, although some of the 
boys opposed it and said we had as well be killed as 
run ourselves to death. 

We traveled westwardly, up the river, about two 
miles and then north to the bluffs where we found 
what appeared to be sufficient protection in the timber 
and hills to warrant a stop for further rest. It was a 
beautiful day after the rain the night before and we lay 



Worse Than War 177 

in the warm sunshine and slept as well as hungry men 
could sleep. We peeled slippery elm bark and ate it, 
but it did little to satisfy our hunger. 

Late in the afternoon. Curly Smith, Wall Brin- 
ton and I were chewing upon our elm bark and six of 
our boys were fast asleep, when a company of soldiers 
rode up in twenty yards of us before we saw them. 
Smith saw them first and said to me, "Who is that?" 
I sprang to my feet, turning around as I did so. I knew 
them at a glance and knew also that we were in 
trouble. There was no time to plan — no time even to 
run — and six of the nine of us fast asleep. My first 
thought was to wake the boys so I called out at the top 
of my voice, "Who are you?" They gave no answer, 
but opened fire upon us. Brinton, Smith and I each 
took a tree and let them come on. It was a desperate 
situation and every load in the brace of six-shooters 
we carried must be made to count. When they were 
close enough for our work to be effective, we began 
on them. From the way they dropped out of their sad- 
dles I am sure very few of our bullets went astray. 
The captain kept urging his men on, calling "Give them 
hell, boys!" and we kept busy. The captain himself 
galloped up within two rods of me, threw his saber 
around his head and ordered me to surrender. I had, 
as I thought, just one shot left. I put it through his 
heart. I saw it twist, as it seemed, through his coat, and 
I shall never forget the writhing of his body and the 
dreadful frown as he fell from his horse. Most of them 
who were left had now exhausted the loads in their 
guns, and when they saw their captain fall re- 
treated. We whirled and ran with all our might. 
The boys who had been asleep were gone. They 
had awakened and started at the first volley. 
A short run brought us in sight of the other boys 



178 Recollections of a Pioneer 

who were at the moment trying to pass around a 
long, narrow slough, which lay between them 
and timber on the other side. Brinton's right arm was 
broken between the wrist and elbow. He had received 
the wound as he threw his arm from behind the tree 
to shoot. It was bleeding badly, but we kept running 
and calling to our companions to turn and fight. They 
paid no attention to us, but kept on around the 
slough. During this time the men who attacked us 
had rallied and were riding down upon us. Brinton 
kept calling and urging the boys to turn and fight, and 
finally as our pursuers drew closer they turned and 
fired, and this checked the men who were after us for 
a moment. By this time poor Wall had grown weak and 
sick from loss of blood and could go no farther. We 
had been running side by side. The last words he said 
to me were, "I am sick, I can't go on. I will have to 
surrender. Make your escape if you can." Such a thing 
seemed impossible at the moment, but 1 feared nothing 
so much as the "mercy" of the men who were after 
us. Wall threw up his well arm and 1 ran as fast as I 
could toward the slough or lake and plunged right in. 
The brush and vines on the other side were my only 
hope, aside from the discovery I made as I ran that 
I had one more load in my navy. Our enemies, ex- 
cept one man, took after the boys who were running 
around the lake. As I waded in water nearly waist deep 
the man who had followed me rode up to the edge of 
the lake and ordered me to halt. I paid no attention 
to him but waded on, watching him all the time. He 
rode out into the water, raised his gun as if to shoot 
and called the second time. I stopped and turned and 
leveled the muzzle of my navy at his belt and fired. 
He fell off his horse into the water. When I got across 
I looked back and saw him struggling to keep his head 



Worse Than War 179 

out of the water. I do not know what became of him. 
I foresaw when he came up and rode into the lake that 
he or I would be doing that very thing, and I felt 
that the chance load left in my navy was, as it proved 
to be, my only protection against it. The fight was still 
going on up the lake. I looked and saw Jack Evans 
down in the water and heard him calling for help. 
The other boys were just wading out. I ran to them 
and as I came up I saw blood streaming from the leg 
of one of the men. He had been shot in the thigh, but 
was still able to walk. 

We soon got out of sight in the thick brush and 
they did not follow us. Including the man who re- 
mained with us, four of our men had been wounded in 
the fight. Three of them. Wall Brinton, Jack Evans 
and one of the Platte County boys, were compelled to 
surrender, and we learned that all of them, wounded 
prisoners though they were, were shot in cold blood. 
We never knew how many of their men were killed 
and wounded. 

We hurried on through the brush back toward the 
river, and when we reached it we found a log for our 
wounded man and all swam across to the south side. 
After traveling a few miles down the river we crossed 
in the same manner and made directly north. Just 
before dark we came to an abandoned log house and 
stopped. We were in a pitiable condition. No food 
since the night before, tired and wet, depressed in 
spirits by the loss of our comrades, whom we knew had 
already been killed, and with a wounded man upon 
our hands. To remain there so close to the men who 
were after us meant that we would be captured and 
killed. 

We talked the matter over. The wounded man, 
whose name I do not recall, in company with his 



180 Recollections of a Pioneer 

brother, fell in with us at the Arkansas River. He was 
so weak and was suffering so much that he could go 
no farther, so he and his brother decided to remain at 
the cabin through the night and trust to the mercy of 
some one whom they might find next day to give them 
assistance and shield them from the soldiers who had 
pursued us from Johnstown. They agreed that the 
four of us who were uninjured would not be so apt to 
secure sympathy and that we had better move on. 

It was a sad farewell that we bade our wounded 
companion and his brother that night, and it was, for 
me at least, a farewell indeed, for I have never seen or 
heard from them since, but it seemed the best and only 
thing that could be done. As soon as it was dark we 
started and traveled all night, though very slowly, and 
until late in the afternoon of the day following. At that 
time we came near a small place, the name of which I 
do not now remember. We went up close to the town 
and stopped at a house. Two men in blue clothes were 
there with the family and we immediately took charge 
of them and ordered supper. They prepared a splen- 
did meal for us and we ate it as only men can eat who 
have gone forty-eight hours without food. It was a 
cool evening and they had a small fire in an old- 
fashioned fire-place. After supper we asked them to 
spread some bed clothes before the fire and three of 
us lay down and slept while the fourth stood guard 
over the men. We took turns standing guard through 
the night and next morning ordered an early break- 
fast and left as soon as it was daylight. 

We started north, and as soon as we got out of 
sight of the house turned east a short distance and 
then went back south about a mile to a high knoll 
covered with black jack. We lay there all day and 
watched the maneuvers of the blue coats. They 



Worse Than War 181 

scoured the country to the north far and near, but 
never approached the knoll on which we were hidden. 
We had a fine rest after our two good meals, and we 
needed it following the events of the past tv>^o days. 
When night came and ever^^thing got still we came 
down and went to the same house for supper. The 
men had not returned from hunting us, and the women 
were much surprised to see us. They gave us a good 
supper and we bade them goodby and started north, 
listening all the time for approaching horses from 
either direction. We had no difficulty, and by morn- 
ing were well out of the way. 

The next place I remember was in Jackson 
County near Independence. As we were worn out, 
ragged and almost barefooted, and as the war was over, 
we decided to see the provost marshal and get a pass 
on which we could travel on to our homes in safety. I 
went to a good Union man's house and told him what I 
wanted. He promised to see the marshal for me, and 
I directed him where to find us. Upon his return he 
said the pass would be provided. Next morning they 
sent a small company of soldiers out and we saw that 
we had been deceived. They looked us over carefully 
and talked pretty saucy, but did not harm us. We 
looked so shabby that they evidently thought we did 
not amount to much. They put us in a two-horse 
wagon and took us to Warrensburg, forty miles far- 
ther from home. There we were placed in a guard- 
house where we were kept two or three days, without 
telling us what their plans were. One morning a 
guard came and took one of our men — a mere boy — 
down to headquarters and quizzed him to find out if 
he knew anything about the fight on Little Grand 
River. He denied it. Then they came and got one of 
the other boys, but he managed also to convince them 



182 Recollections of a Pioneer 

that we had been together — just the four of us — since 
we left the south. This seemed to satisfy them for they 
did not call on me, but we were not released. 

The day following a guard came and marched us 
out to the edge of town and set us to work hoeing in a 
garden, with a negro woman for a boss. I called her 
"aunty," and cut up as many beans and peas as I did 
weeds. I kept my "boss" busy showing me how, and 
she got precious little work out of me. I began to sus- 
pect they were trying to connect us with the Grand 
River affair, and feared they might get some one who 
would identify us or pretend to do so, and I did not like 
the prospect, so I made up my mind I would leave them 
some how and go home without a pass. The guard- 
house was a brick building that had been a dwelling. 
A water tank stood out in the yard and the prisoners 
all went there for water. Four men stood guard day 
and night, and it was customary at six o'clock to turn 
the men in and lock them up. On the evening that I 
decided to escape I managed to hide in a pile of lumber 
that lay in the yard near the water tank, and when 
the guards put the men in and locked the doors they did 
not miss me. I lay very still until late at night. I 
could hear the guard pass on his beat and by the time 
required to pass me and return I could judge the 
length of his heat. When I thought it safe to make my 
dash I watched and after he had passed south, I waited 
until he had gone, as well as I could estimate, to the 
end of his beat, then I leaped across his path so quickly 
that he did not have time to think, much less shoot. I 
ran down a dark alley and had no trouble in reaching 
the outskirts of the town. I took across the fields, not 
knowing where I was going, nor caring much, just so 
I was getting away. I had been gone but a little while 
when I heard the town bell ring and knew the alarm 



Worse Than War 183 

had been turned in. Then I heard horses galloping out, 
as I supposed, on every road from town. I heard the 
horses gallop across a bridge some distance from town, 
and concluded I would cross no bridges that night. I 
moved cautiously on, and by and by came to a creek 
somewhat in the direction I had heard horses cross the 
bridge. I followed the creek, watching all the time for 
bridges and after a while came to a foot-log. I crossed 
and made my way out of the thick brush and stopped 
to get my bearings. It was a starlight night. I located the 
north star and took it for my guide and traveled all 
night. 

When daylight came I found myself in a creek bot- 
tom and in a body of very large timber. I found a 
large, hollow sycamore with a hole in the side reaching 
down to the ground large enough to admit me. I sat 
back into that tree to get a little rest and possibly a 
little sleep. I watched and listened. A good while af- 
ter sun up I saw a man going with a yoke of cattle to- 
ward a field, which I could see through the timber, to 
plow. Two big, savage looking dogs were following 
him. The dogs raised their heads and came toward 
me as though they scented me and I made sure I would 
be discovered, but they turned in another direction be- 
fore they got very near and did not disturb me. I sat 
there all day and, in spite of my hunger, slept and rest- 
ed. When night came I made another start as soon as 
I could see the north star. I traveled all night and when 
morning came I still had but little idea where I was. 
I went up on a high hill which was covered with brush 
and from which I could see all about me. Everything 
was quiet, so I lay down and slept. I awoke about ten 
o'clock and saw a stage-coach loaded with passengers 
passing along a road below me. This was the first in- 
formation I had that I was near a public road. I re- 



184 Recollections of a Pioneer 

mained in the brush awhile and then decided to move 
along cautiously by daylight. I saw a house now and 
then and, though terribly hungry, I did not dare ap- 
proach it and ask for food. Toward night I reached the 
rugged hills, from which I judged I must be near the 
Missouri River. Just before dark I found an empty to- 
bacco barn and crawled into it and remained through- 
out the night. This was the third night with two days 
intervening — sixty hours — in which I had not tasted 
food, and I was worn out with my long tramp besides. 

I did not sleep well that night. My accommoda- 
tions were very poor and my gnawing appetite, made 
me wakeful. I had one comfort, however, I was well 
hidden, and this reflection rewarded me for much of 
my suffering. Since this trip home I have had a warm 
sympathy for all hunted beasts. 

^ When day began to dawn I commenced observing 
my situation without. I saw a house near by , and 
watched it for an hour. I could only see two women, 
and from the way they attended the work outside as 
well as in the house, I concluded there were no men 
about the place and that it would be safe for me to 
venture up and ask for something to eat, and, if I got 
into trouble, trust my legs, the only weapons I had, to 
get me out. I went up cautiously and found what I 
could not discover from my hiding place, that one was 
an old lady and the other a girl just grown. I spoke to 
the old lady and told her my famished condition. She 
said she was sorry for me, but she had orders to feed 
nobody on either side arid that she could not disobey 
them without getting into trouble herself. I told her the 
war was over and that I was trying to get home. I had 
tried to quit fighting when I left Price on Red River, 
but had had greater difficulty in keeping myself from 
being killed since I quit fighting than before. She still 



Worse Than War 185 

refused to give me anything. Finally, my entreaties won 
the girl. She spoke up and said, "Mother, I have made 
no promises. You have kept your promise and have 
refused him food. I will give him something to eat." 
With that she told me to draw my chair to the table and 
she began to set such a meal before me as I had not 
tasted in years, it seemed. Cold boiled ham, light 
bread, milk and butter, preserves, honey, cake and pie 
— plenty of all, and rations I had not heard of in 
months. I will not attempt to describe how ravenously 
I ate. I was probably as shabby looking a mortal as 
ever sat down to a meal at a civilized table. My hair 
and beard were long and had not been combed for 
days. I had not washed my face since I escaped from 
the guard-house. My clothes — what was left of them — 
were, with walking through mud and rain, wading 
lakes and sloughs and swimming rivers, soiled and 
grimy beyond description. When I had finished eating 
the girl asked me if I would take a lunch along with 
me. Of course I told her I would, and that I would al- 
ways be grateful to her, and I have kept my promise. I 
have many times remembered that kindness and 
thanked that young lady over and over a thousand 
times in my heart. 

I took my package and bade the girl and her 
mother goodby and started for the woods. I soon 
reached level ground and heavy timber and knew I 
was in the river bottom. I went cautiously along until 
I saw the river in the distance. Then I selected a good 
shade and lay down and had a fine rest after my good 
meal. I awoke some time along in the afternoon. 
Everything was quiet — no sound of human foot or 
voice. I ate my lunch and went down to the river bank 
to select a good crossing place. I found a place that 
suited me. Then I prepared three logs and brought 



186 Recollections of a Pioneer 

them to the water's edge and tied them firmly together 
with hickory bark which I peeled from the saplings 
near by. I found in a drift close at hand a clap-board 
suitable for an oar, and my craft was ready to sail. 
I might have made the crossing in daylight without 
being molested, but, not knowing what I might encoun- 
ter on the other shore, I decided to wait for night. 

As soon as it began to grow dark I went down and 
pushed my raft into the water and tied it to the root 
of a tree. I then got astride of it with feet and legs up 
to the knees in the water to see if it would bear iny 
weight. It appeared to be sufficiently strong, so with 
my clap-board in my hand I cut loose. The current 
caught me and took me rapidly down stream, but 
I was sure if 1 kept using my paddle it would have suf- 
ficient effect to land me on the other side some time. It 
soon grew very dark, so that I could not see the shore 
on either side, and I could not tell I was moving ex- 
cept by the water running past my feet and legs. After 
what seemed a very long time, and after I had grown 
very tired both with m}^ labor and my position on the 
raft, I felt my feet strike the sand. I got up and towed 
the raft to shore and pulled it up on dry land. Then I 
took a rest and planned. I might be on an island 
and in that case I would have further need for my raft. 
I could only ascertain my position by investigating, so 
when sufficiently rested I started on across the land, 
breaking the top of a bush every few steps to guide me 
back in case I should find myself upon an island. I 
soon came to a slough which I waded without difficulty 
and passed on. A little farther on I came to another 
slough, which I also waded. The ground under my 
feet seemed to grow firmer as I walked away from this 
slough. I passed into a body of good sized timber and 
finally I came to a wagon road, and I knew then that I 



Worse Than War 187 

was on the main land and the Missouri River which had 
given me so much trouble during the four preceding 
years was again behind me. My little raft might rest 
and I should have no need to retrace my steps by the 
broken bushes. 

I had no idea what time of night it was. I was 
tired and wet, but with all that, felt much better than 
on the preceding night when so hungry. I thought it 
must be twenty miles or more to where my sister lived 
in the northeast portion of Clay County, so I again took 
the north star for my guide and set out, bearing west 
somewhat when I found traveling that way agreeable, 
but never east. I paid no attention to roads unless they 
led in my direction. When daylight came I was at a loss 
to know where 1 was. I saw a house in the distance and 
went up near it. No one was up, so 1 sat down to wait. In 
a little while a girl came out to a wood pile and began 
picking up chips. I went up and asked her how far it 
was to Greenville. She said one mile. I asked her which 
direction and she pointed east. I thanked her and start- 
ed in the direction she pointed. I was no sooner out of 
sight than I turned my course due north, for I was then 
in less than two miles of my sister's home. I arrived 
shortly after sun up, and as I went into her house and 
sat down to a good breakfast, I felt that my troubles 
ought to be fairly over, now that the war had closed; 
but my terrible experiences on the way home caused 
me to doubt whether I could go back and live in peace, 
even if there was no war. 

I remained with my sister a day or two, never 
showing myself in daylight, for I learned from her 
that now since fear of southern soldiers was over, all 
those who were too cowardly to go to the front but had 
remained at home and robbed and harassed old men 
and women and children, were giving the community 



188 Recollections of a Pioneer 

more trouble than at any time during the war. They 
were all very brave then and organized companies and 
marched and drilled and galloped over the roads, seek- 
ing all manner of pretenses to rob and kill those who 
had sympathized with the south. Returning Confeder- 
ate soldiers, were, in those first days after the close of 
the war, in greater danger than when in the front of bat- 
tle, as my own recent experience had shown, and I was 
not alone, for my sister told me of a number of soldiers 
who had returned from the south only to be killed after 
reaching home. 

I was sure I would find much the same condition in 
Ruchanan County that I had encountered all along my 
route home, and I did not like the prospect that lay be- 
fore me. 

I learned from my sister that Trav. Turner, a neigh- 
bor of hers, was at St. Joseph fitting up a freight train 
for Salt Lake. I knew Turner well. He had carried food 
to Rrother James and me while we lay in the brush 
waiting to hear the fate of Charley Pullins who was cap- 
turned when we were all overtaken at the home of Reu- 
ben Eastin in that neighborhood, and I knew, if I could 
reach him, I would have no difficulty in getting away 
from the country. Something had to be done. If I 
should be discovered at the home of my sister it would 
give the "yard dogs," as those brave murderers of that 
community were called, a pretext for robbing her and 
probably for killing her husband or some of her family. 
We decided upon a plan. I shaved very clean and 
parted my long hair in the middle, put on one of my 
sister's dresses and both of us put on sunbonnets. We 
got in a buggy and started for Saint Joseph. We passed 
right through old Haynesville, the center of all the pat- 
riotic parading of the "yard dogs," on through Platts- 
burg and reached the home of Jack Elder, a half mile 



Worse Than War 189 

from my old home, where we stayed all night. Next 
morning we drove on to Saint Joseph and took dinner 
with my brother, Isaac. I remember this incident par- 
ticularly for the family had company for dinner. I was 
introduced as a Clay County friend of Mrs. Wilson's 
and sat down at the same table, and the visitors did not 
suspect me through my disguise. After dinner we drove 
to the ferry at the foot of Francis Street and drove on. 
The boat was crowded and they had to place our buggy 
in line in order to make room for others. Two men 
took hold of the buggy to lift it around. My sister said, 
"Wait and we will get out." The men said, "No, sit still 
ladies, we can lift it with you in it." We sat still, and 
crossed over. On reaching the other side we drove out 
through the woods and found Turner's camp. Passing 
on beyond and out of sight, I removed my disguise, 
after which we returned to the camp and I bade my sis- 
ter good-by. 



CHAPTER XVII. 
Across the Plains in Sixty-five. 

I was perfectly at home in Turner's camp, not only 
on account of my acquaintance with hiin, but on ac- 
count of my old familiarity with plainsmen's ways. 

There were nineteen men in the train, and but three 
of them, Turner, Cap. Hughes, the wagon boss, and 
James Curl, of Rushville, knew me. They were all dis- 
creet and kept their knowledge to themselves. I went 
by the name of John Allen. Just before we were ready 
to start my brother-in-law, James Reynolds, sent me a 
mule, bridle and saddle and a small amount of money. 
We pulled out early one morning, sixteen wagons, four 
yoke of oxen to each wagon, and forty hundred in each 
load. Some time was required to get the men and cattle 
accustomed to traveling, and for a while our progress 
was slow. At Fort Kearney the soldiers stopped our 
train. They told us the Indians were on the warpath 
ahead and the authorities refused to permit any train 
to pass on without fifty men. This forced us to wait un- 
til another train came up. During this time we were 
required to organize ourselves into a company of sol- 
diers, elect a captain and drill several hours every day. 
The captain ordered me out to drill with the boys. I 
told him I knew as much about drilling as I wanted to 
know and refused to go. Turner thought he had to obey 
the authorities and had all his men drill very indus- 
triously. I told him he had better stop that foolishness 
and pull out or he would not reach Salt Lake before 
Christmas. He said he did not know how to get away 
from the orders given him by the soldiers. I told him to 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 191 

turn the matter over to me and I would show him. He 
did as I requested and gave orders that until further 
notice I should be obeyed. 

The following morning I was out before daylight. I 
quietly aroused the men and ordered them to prepare 
to move. Everything was soon ready and before sun 
up we were on the road. I made twenty-five miles that 
day, which put us so far ahead that we never again 
heard of soldiers or of the trains that expected to ac- 
company us. Turner wanted me to remain in charge of 
the train, but I told him I could not do it, as I had had 
trouble enough the past four years, but that I would 
give him all the assistance in my power. 

The train moved along slowly over the old road up 
the Platte which was so familiar to me, until it reached 
the upper crossing at South Platte, where 1 crossed in 
forty-nine. From that point we continued up South 
Platte over a road with which I was not familiar. When 
we reached the mouth of the Cache le Poudre River we 
crossed and left the Platte and followed the Cache le 
Poudre up about 75 miles, as I remember it. There 
we left the river and passed over a high plateau, or di- 
vide as we called it, and down into a beautiful valley, 
the head waters of Laramie River. After crossing this 
valley we passed through a very rough country that lay 
between the Laramie and the North Platte. On this 
stretch of the road and at a point I do not now remem- 
ber, we passed a government fort. There I saw Gillis- 
pie Poteet, with whom I had gone to school as a boy. 
He was a private in the Federal service. I do not know 
whether he recognized me or not. I passed him with- 
out speaking or making myself known. My experiences 
in the war had made me doubtful of even my old school 
mates when I saw them in such company as I found 
him. 



192 Recollections of a Pioneer 

After crossing North Platte, which was but a small 
stream at that point, we passed into the worst alkali 
country I ever saw in my life. It extended from the 
North Platte to the Colorado River — a distance of one 
hundred and fifty miles or more. 

We had a hundred and twenty-five head of cattle 
and about one-fifth of them gave out before we were 
half way across the desert and had to be herded behind 
the train. In this state of affairs, which seemed about 
as bad as it could well be. Turner was taken sick. He 
and Captain Hughes had been having trouble with the 
men, and Turner was greatly worried, and I thought at 
first that he was homesick. The second day after Tur- 
ner was taken sick he came to me and asked me to take 
charge of the train and let him go on by stage to Salt 
Lake City where he could rest and see a doctor. I had 
been thinking for several days that I would like to 
leave the train and go on by stage myself, but did 
not like to leave Turner while he was in trouble. So 
when he proposed to go on I suggested that he leave the 
train with Captain Hughes and that I go along with him 
to care for him. He said he could not consent to go on 
unless I remained with the train; that if we both went 
the men would abandon the train on the desert. I then 
told him I would do my best; that he had stood by me 
when I was in trouble, had carried food to me in the 
brush when, if he had been discovered, it would have 
cost him his life, and that I was ready to do everything 
I could for him. I saw Captain Hughes and found it 
was agreeable to him that I take charge. 

We had then been nearly three months on the road. 
The cattle were poor and worn out and there was little 
food for them upon the desert. The men were tired and 
had been inclined to rebel against Turner and Hughes, 
and many times it was all that all of us could do to keep 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 193 

them from abandoning the train. Under these trying 
conditions, I took charge, much against my incUnation, 
but out of a sense of duty to Turner. 

Ttirner took the stage and left us. I immediately 
gave the men to understand that 1 w^ould have no 
foolishness and that I intended to push the train on in 
good order and as rapidly as conditions would permit. 
The men seemed to believe I could do what I said I 
could do and became very well satisfied. I had trouble 
with only one man — a negro that Curl had picked up 
at Fort Kearney, and placed in charge of one of his 
teams. He weighed about 180 pounds, and had just been 
discharged from the Union army. He felt very 
important, and still wore his blue uniform. The 
trouble arose in this way: At night we placed 
the wagons so as to form a large corral, leaving 
a gap on one side. In the morning the cattle would be 
rounded up and driven into the corral to be yoked. This 
negro would not go out in the roundup, but would re- 
main at the camp until the cattle came up, then in place 
of waiting until the cattle were safely in the corral, he 
would pick up his yoke and start for his cattle directly 
in front of the drove. Many of the cattle would frighten 
at this and run away and have to be rounded up again. 
The boys had scolded him frequently, but he paid no 
attention to them, and when I went in charge they com- 
plained to me. I spoke to the negro firmly but kindly 
and told him to wait until the cattle were all driven in 
before attempting to yoke his cattle. He paid no atten- 
tion to me, and as usual frightened the cattle back. I 
said nothing more to him. The next morning I took one 
of the long bull whips, the stock of which was of sea- 
soned hickor}^ and eight or ten feet long, and took my 
stand at the side of the gap as though I intended to as- 
sist in driving the cattle in. When the front cattle came 



194 Recollections of a Pioneer 

up the negro started for his oxen with the yoke in his 
hands. Quick as a flash I changed ends on the whip- 
stock and with the butt of it I gave him such a rap on 
the side of the head that he dropped his yoke and stag- 
gered out of the way. That was the last trouble I had 
with that negro. He was as obliging and obedient to me 
after that as I could ask a negro to be. 

I got the train to the Colorado River where there 
was plenty of water and grass, and rested three days. 
I crossed the river and moved on up Black Fork about 
forty miles to Fort Bridger. There I met Turner who 
had returned from Salt Lake to see how we got along. 
I drove the train up close to the fort and stopped on a 
stream. The cattle were unyoked and I had gone with 
them to the stream to see that they all got water. It 
was a beautiful place to camp, and with the fort so close 
at hand I thought we could all lie down and rest with- 
out fear of Indians. While I was at the creek three 
men with yellow stripes on their shoulders rode up and 
asked me where the owner of the train was. I directed 
them to Turner, who was at the camp. They rode off 
and I followed and reached the camp in time to hear 
them tell Turner that he must move on; that he could 
not camp in five miles of the fort; that they were sav- 
ing the grass for hay. Turner asked me what he should 
do. I told him there was but one thing to do — move on. 
That the fort was placed there for the purpose of pro- 
tecting emigrants, and freighters, but that did not mat- 
ter. Those gentlemen in blue clothes and yellow stripes 
must be protected or they could not draw their salaries. 

The dead line they had drawn was five miles be- 
yond, and it was nearl}^ night and our cattle were 
hungry and we were foot-sore and worn out, and all the 
Indians on the plains could rob and scalp us that dis- 
tance away from the fort and not a gentleman in blue 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 195 

clothes and yellow stripes be disturbed by it, but we 
had to move. I was rebellious again — more so I believe 
than at any moment during the war, which had just 
closed — and but for my recent efforts and my dismal 
failure, I should have felt much like challenging the 
whole regiment with my twenty cowboys. We were not 
the only sufferers. An emigrant train of about twenty 
families, men, women and children from near Rush- 
ville, Buchanan County, in which were Joe Hart and 
Tom Hill, who I remember had fallen in with us and 
were traveling close behind, they, too, had to pack 
up and start. It was late at night when we reached a safe 
distance from the fort under escort of the gentlemen in 
blue clothes and yellow stripes, and we stopped on a 
desert so barren that we had to corral the cattle and 
hold the poor hungry things all night. In the morning 
we moved on some miles farther and found grass and 
water and stopped the remainder of the day. A little 
less than a week later we pulled into Salt Lake, seventy 
miles west of Fort Bridger, with the merchandise in 
good condition, but with the cattle pretty well played 
out. I remained with Turner until his wagons were all 
unloaded. When that was finished my free boarding 
house was closed. My mule was so poor that he was 
almost worthless. I had but little money, and my 
friends were all preparing to start back. I could not 
think of going with them and I felt the necessity for 
stirring about and finding something to do. 

In a few days a large train pulled in from the west. 
I went to the boss and asked him what his plans were. 
He told me he was hauling flour from Salt Lake City to 
Helena, Montana. I asked him about the Montana 
country, and where and how he wintered his cattle. He 
said he grazed them on Boulder Creek near Helena, and 
that there was no better range in the west. I learned 



196 Recollections of a Pioneer 

farther that he would start on his last trip before win- 
ter in about a week. I did not tell him that I thought of 
applying for a job driving an ox team. 

Next day Turner, having disposed of his goods, 
asked me what he owed me. I told him he owed me 
nothing; that he had paid me long ago by protecting 
me in time of war, and had brought me away from dan- 
ger free of charge. Turner said he would not have it 
that way; that if I had not been along his train would 
be back upon the alkali desert, and that he proposed to 
pay me. I then told him of my plan to drive an ox team 
on to Montana, as I was a pretty good bull-whacker and 
had to have some place to go. In reply to this he said 
I must do no such thing; that if I would name the place 
I wanted to go he would see that I had a way to get 
there without driving a team. I told him I had no place 
in particular in mind, but would be satisfied anywhere 
among the mountains and Indians — just so I could get 
away from the old war troubles back in civilization. 

In a few days Turner came back and told me his 
cattle were so poor that he could not sell them, and pro- 
posed that I buy them and take them along with me. I 
replied that I had no money, besides I was alone and 
felt that I could not handle the cattle. He said I did 
not need any money, that he would take my note and as 
to the other matters he would fix them. He then 
made me a present of a fine mare, a gun and a 
hundred dollars in money. He also gave me a wagon 
loaded with provisions. With this equipment, it began 
to look as though I could take the cattle, and that the 
plan he had made for me was much better than any I 
could have made for myself. Jim Curl, a Buchanan 
County boy, had sixteen head of cattle which he added 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 197 

to mine. He loaded a wagon with provisions and each 
of us hired a man to drive our team, and with this ar- 
rangement made we were ready to start. 

We remained at Salt Lake until Turner had fin- 
ished his business. His entire outfit at St. Joseph cost 
him about seven thousand dollars. He paid about two 
thousand dollars in wages to the men who assisted him. 
He received twenty-five thousand six hundred dollars 
for his cargo. I saw him get the money and put it in a 
bank. I realized then what a loss it would have been 
to him had he failed to get his train across, and he often 
told me if 1 had not been along he might never have 
succeeded. I gave Turner my note for four thousand 
dollars for the cattle and he took the stage for home. 
The next day Curl and 1 left for Boulder Valley. 

For seventy-five miles or more out of Salt Lake 
we had to pass through the Mormon settlements and 
we had great difficulty in keeping the cattle out of the 
fields and gardens. We crossed Bear River just 
above the point where it empties into Salt Lake and, 
after crossing a range of mountains, found Hedge- 
peth's cutoff, a road I had traveled in 1854. A short dis- 
tance farther on, and from the top of a high divide, I 
could see Snake River valley near Fort Hall, my old trail 
in 1849. When we got down to the river and crossed 
the deep worn trail, the scene was quite familiar to 
me, although it had been a good many years since I had 
viewed it the last time. After crossing Snake River we 
set out across the mountains for our destination. I can't 
remember the names of many points on this trip. In 
fact the road was comparatively new and but few 
places had names. I remember passing over a broad, 
sandy desert, where our cattle nearly famished for 
water, and then down a long grade over almost solid 
rock. Near the bottom of this grade I saw a small 



198 Recollections of a Pioneer 

stream some distance away, and rode down to see if I 
could find a way by which the cattle could reach water. 
I recall this distinctly because while hunting a path to 
the water I saw two queer looking animals, the like of 
which I had never seen before. I learned afterwards 
that they were lynx. 

Next day we passed into a beautiful valley where 
we had plenty of water and grass, but it snowed most 
of the day — a wet snow that soon melted and did not 
interfere much with grazing. Passing on we reached 
Black Tail Creek, (so named after the black tail deer), 
which we followed down to Nelson River. After cross- 
ing Nelson River we passed over a low range of moun- 
tains and down into Boulder Valley, the place we set 
out to reach. In spite of the high recommendation 
given this valley as a place to winter cattle, I did not 
like it, and we moved on up the river about fifty miles, 
and reached a place where the grass was abundant, but 
the frost had killed it. Curl thought this was the place 
to stop, but I was not satisfied. I saw no bunch grass, 
and my experience with cattle in California told me that 
we would not be safe unless we found a place where 
bunch grass grew on the mountain sides. However, we 
camped at this point and remained a few days to look 
about. Just above our camp a small creek, which 
seemed to come down from a big mountain in the dis- 
tance, put into Boulder River. Curl and I passed up 
this creek toward the mountain, which was covered with 
snow. Some miles up we found the finest bunch grass 
I ever saw growing upon the low hills which surround- 
ed the high peak. We spent the whole day looking over 
the place and went so far as to select the site for our 
cabin. Returning to camp, entirely satisfied with our 
day's work, we planned for the winter. Next morning 
early we were on our way to the mountain home we had 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 199 

selected. The grade was steep, our wagons were heavy 
and there was no road. We had to circle about the hills 
and wind and twist in order to get along at all. It was 
nearly night when we arrived at the spot selected. 

I had expected, from reports given me, to find a 
white settlement in Boulder Valley, but there was none, 
and if there was a white person within fifty miles of 
our camp that night we did not know it. Virginia City 
and Helena were mining towns about a hundred miles 
apart, and we were half way between them. I could 
hardly have found a place in the whole western country 
where the chance of meeting a white man was so small. 
It was, by good fortune, the very spot I set out to find 
when I left Missouri. I told my friends when I left that 
I was going out among the savage Indians for protec- 
tion against the "yard dog" militia, who had not been 
in the war, and who only commenced fighting after the 
war was over and returning Confederate soldiers were 
at their mercy. 

A hurried camp, such as we were accustomed to 
make when traveling, was all we did the night of our 
arrival. Next morning we were up bright and early 
and, after attention to the cattle to see that none of 
them had strayed, we began building our winter home. 
We had but one axe and one shovel — one implement for 
each of us. Abundance of pine and cedar grew near. 
I took the axe and began cutting the logs while Curl 
with the shovel leveled the earth upon the site selected 
for the cabin. Curl's task was soon done, but not until 
I had a number of logs ready to be taken in. The oxen 
were then yoked and as fast as the logs were cut they 
were dragged in. When we decided logs enough were 
upon the ground, building began. It was slow work 
and hard work. Each log had to be raised and laid in 
its place and notched carefully so that it would hold 



200 Recollections of a Pioneer 

firm and leave as little space as possible to be "chink- 
ed." When the proper height for the eaves had been 
reached, we elevated one side by adding logs to give 
slant to the roof. Stout poles were then laid side by side, 
over which we spread a thick layer of cedar branches 
and covered the whole with gravel. We chinked the 
spaces between the logs and plastered over the chinking 
with mortar made of mud. We then cut out a door, over 
which we hung a heavy blanket, and with such stones as 
we could select, suitable to be used, built a fire-place, 
laying the stones in the same kind of mortar used in the 
chinking. Thus we had a house without a nail or a 
piece of iron about it. 

Before I left Salt Lake, I bought two fine grey- 
hounds. I trained them to sleep just inside our door. 
I told Curl they must serve as a lock to our door. They 
were faithful and obedient and I knew no Indian could 
get near us without warning. I felt more secure when I 
lay down to sleep with those dogs by my door than if I 
had had a puncheon door, barred and locked. 

We moved into our cabin late in October, and I felt 
for the first time in more than four years that I was at 
home. I was glad also to get a rest. I had left Red 
River, fifty miles above Shreveport, in April, walked 
the seven hundred miles to Buchanan County, 
fighting, running and hiding — much of the time 
without food, as I have related; then twelve hundred 
miles to Salt Lake, with a week's rest, then six hundred 
miles to Boulder Valley — six months of trial and hard- 
ship which few men are called upon to endure. In view 
of this I looked upon my winter in the cabin, in spite of 
its loneliness, with a good deal of pleasure. 

There was an abundance of game all about us. 
Elk, deer, antelope, bear, moose, and smaller game, 
grouse, pheasants and sage hens plentiful. Elk was my 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 201 

favorite meat, and, while we had great variety, I always 
kept as much as one hind quarter of elk hanging upon 
the corner of our cabin. Any day I chose I could take 
)ny gun and go out upon the mountain side among the 
cattle and bring back just such meat as my appetite 
fancied. 

We lived thus until near the first of the year 1866, 
without once seeing a human face — either white man or 
Indian. One morning about the time mentioned, Curl 
and I went out to get our ponies when we saw a dozen 
buck Indians chasing an antelope down the vallej^ 
Some were on foot and some on ponies. We hurriedly 
climbed up the side of a mountain which gave us an 
extended view of the whole plain, and to our astonish- 
ment we saw, about three miles away, a perfect village 
of wigwams. We were no longer without neighbors. 
Curl was considerably alarmed, but I told him we had 
nothing to fear, except that our game would not be so 
plentiful and so easily procured. He asked me how I 
knew we were in no danger. I pointed to the squaws, 
and pappooses which we could see about the village, 
and told him that my experience with Indians was that 
the}'^ were always peaceable when they had their fam- 
ilies along. I told him, however, that we must be dis- 
creet and make friends with them, and assured him that 
I knew how to do that and that he must follow my ad- 
vice. 

Out of extra caution we went back to the cabin and 
immediately put all our guns in good condition. We 
had hardly finished our task, when about noon, two In- 
dians ran upon our cabin, to their utter astonishment. 
They stopped and looked in consternation. Our dogs 
went after them and I had hard work to make the dogs 
understand that they must not harm them. When the 
dogs were quiet I. went up to them, showing my friendli- 



202 Recollections of a Pioneer 

ness in every way I could. They answered me with signs 
showing that they too were friendly. When I had con- 
vinced them I meant no harm, I had them come into the 
cabin, and there I tried to find out what their plans 
were in the valley. I could understand but little they 
said, but I felt perfectly sure that by proper cultivation 
we should soon become quite friendly. 

I then set food before them. I had a kettle of 
thoroughly cooked navy beans simmering over our 
fire. I filled a couple of pans from the kettle, set them 
out and provided bread and meat. They went in on 
the beans and ate them ravenousty. I tried to induce 
them to eat bread and meat, but not a morsel would 
they touch, but kept calling for beans. I told Curl we 
must find some way to stop them if possible, as so many 
beans in their starved stomachs might make them 
sick and the tribe would think we had poisoned them. 
We both then began to make all manner of signs to- 
ward the bread and meat, but it was useless. The two 
ate the entire kettle of beans and looked around for 
more. When they saw the beans were gone, they ate 
large quantities of bread and meat, and made signs that 
they were much pleased with their meal. When they 
left they made us understand that we were invited to 
see them. They pointed to their camp and said "wakee 
up." We made them understand that we would come 
and when they were gone I told Curl we must keep our 
promise. 

Next day we saddled our horses, buckled our navies 
on the outside of our clothes and each with a rifle in 
front across the horn of the saddle, rode down. The 
dogs followed us. When we rode up the squaws and 
pappooses ran for the tents like chickens that have seen 
a hawk in the air. But few bucks were in camp, the 
majority of them being out hunting. Fortunately for us 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 203 

one of the bucks who had dined with us so heartily on 
beans the day before was lying in his tent (perfectly 
well, to our surprise), and when the alarm was given he 
came out and recognized us. He came up and bade us 
welcome, and invited us into his tent. I was surprised to 
see how comfortably he was fixed. The poles of his 
tent were probably twenty feet long and tied together 
at the top. The lower ends of the poles were set in a 
wide circle, making a room twelve or fourteen feet 
across. It was a cold, winter day and a small stick fire 
was burning in the center directly beneath an opening 
at the top of the tent. The draft was such that the 
smoke all arose and escaped from the tent. They had 
gathered pine needles and packed them upon the floor 
around the fire and over them had spread dressed buf- 
falo robes, making as fine a carpet as I ever set foot 
upon. 

We sat down by the fire and talked as much as we 
could to our host, making him understand that we were 
entirely friendly. Our dogs, seeing the good feeling be- 
tween the Indians and ourselves, accepted the situation 
and throughout the entire winter made no hostile dem- 
onstrations toward them except when they came about 
the cabin. From this visit the whole tribe became aware 
that we were friendly, and within a very short time the 
very best feeling prevailed. 

Their only means of subsistence was the game they 
killed, and as they had no weapons but bows and ar- 
rows it required almost constant effort upon the part of 
the bucks to keep the tribe supplied with food. They 
were very clever in their methods and would bring in 
game when white men under such circumstances would 
have failed entirely. One of their favorite plans was 
this: Fifty or more would mount their ponies and 
make a wide circle, driving always toward Cottonwood 



204 Recollections of a Pioneer 

Creek. The banks of this stream were very steep and 
there were but few crossing places. The antelope on 
becoming alarmed would start for these crossings, and 
as they passed down the narrow gulches, other Indians 
with bows and arrows waylaid them from behind rocks 
and brush, and shot them down. They did wonders 
with their bows and arrows, but many antelope passed 
through without being touched. Others, though wound- 
ed, escaped. 

We soon began to join in these hunts, and I have 
from my station behind a rock at one of these crossings 
killed as many as fifteen antelope in a single hunt. I 
was an expert with the na\^ in those days and rarely 
missed a shot. I always gave them every one to the In- 
dians, as neither Curl nor I cared for antelope meat, 
and they were, of course, greatly pleased and regarded 
us both with our skill and navies as fortunate acquisi- 
tions, and we lost nothing by our kindness to them. 

We had a hundred and sixteen head of cattle and 
four horses. The Indians had about two hundred 
ponies. All herded and grazed together in that valley 
for four months. When the Indians left in the spring 
we rounded up our cattle and found every one of them. 

About the first of May, 1866, we moved our cattle 
over on Indian Creek, about forty miles north. There 
was a little mining town near and we set up a butcher 
shop, furnishing our own beeves to it. The town was 
not large enough to enable us to do piuch business and, 
after two months, we moved to Helena, another mining 
town, but larger than the first. At that time Virginia 
City was the capital of the territory. By the first of 
September we had disposed of all our cattle one way or 
another and were ready for something else. 



Across the Plains in Sixty-Five 205 

While we were deciding what next to do. Brother 
William and his family arrived in Helena. I had not 
seen him for six years — since he and Brother Zack left 
me at home in 1860 to care for father while they went 
back to California to look after the cattle. I had heard 
little from our ranch and our cattle in California, but 
was hardly prepared to learn that war times had been 
so bad there. From William I learned that great law- 
lessness prevailed in California and that our cattle had 
been shot and driven away and that long before the war 
was over William and Zack had nothing left but their 
families. They went to Idaho and mined a while, and 
then on to Montana. While in Idaho, Brother James, 
who had escaped from prison in St. Louis — and a death 
sentence also — had managed to join them with his fam- 
ily. James and Zack had bought a drove of cattle and 
had them in another portion of Montana, so William, 
Curl and I decided to come home. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 
The Return to Missouri. 

It was too late in the fall when this decision was 
reached to make the trip by land, and we began to look 
about for an opportunity to go by the river. Two men 
were fitting up a flat boat at Fort Benton, a hundred 
miles down the river from Helena. We all — William, 
his wife and little daughter. Curl and myself got in Wil- 
liam's two-horse wagon and made our way over to Fort 
Benton. There were no white people living between 
the two places, and we were told that it was not safe to 
attempt the journey, as the Indians had killed and rob- 
bed many persons on that road. We were too well ac- 
quainted with Indians to be much afraid of them, so we 
decided to go. We saw no Indians, but I was robbed one 
night. William and his family slept in the wagon. Curl 
and I under it. One night a coyote slipped up and stole 
a sack of vension from under the back part of my pil- 
low. That was the second experience of that kind. The 
other, which I think I have related, happened years be- 
fore in California. 

When I left with Turner at St. Joseph I was on the 
west side of the Missouri River. When I reached Fort 
Benton I was on the east side, and that was the first 
time I had seen the river since I had left it at St. Joseph. 
I had gone entirely around it. 

The boat that was being rigged out was a curious 
affair. It had no steam, no sails and no oars — just a 
flat bottomed scow with a rudder — designed to float 
with the current. The only equipment for navigation 
besides the rudder was a number of long poles to be 
used in aiding the boat off of sand bars. About two- 



The Return to Missouri 207 

thirds of the floor space of the boat was housed in by 
stretching dry raw hides two deep over a heavy frame 
work, leaving port holes at convenient places through 
which our guns could be directed at the Indians in case 
of attack. The boat was built by Sloan and Parcell, two 
men from Iowa, and they were very proud of their craft. 

When everything was ready, fifty passengers got 
aboard, including two families, and the cable was cut. 
The current was swift and we went down at a gait so 
rapid that it was almost alarming, but we soon grew 
accustomed to it. While in the mountains we fre- 
quently came to shoals and riffles over which the boat 
dashed at a speed that turned us dizzy, but we had to 
stay with it and trust to the man at the rudder to keep 
her straight ahead. 

At the mouth of the Yellowstone, we passed a triba 
of Indians in camp. The boat drifted around a little 
curve and up wdthin forty yards of the bank on which 
the camp was situated before we noticed them. They 
were more surprised, 1 think, than we, for they stood 
looking until we passed entirely out of sight. It snowed 
all that day, and next morning we were drifting through 
mushy ice which sometimes threatened to squeeze our 
boat. We were in constant fear of a gorge and tried 
several times to reach the shore and land, but could not 
get through the ice. Had our boat encountered a gorge 
it is probable that the whole crew would have been 
drowned. Late in the afternoon a south wind began 
to blow and in a few hours the river was nearly clear. 
This was a great relief. 

We had calculated on reaching St. Joseph in a 
month and had laid in provisions accordingly. When 
we struck the Bad Lands the current of the river be- 
came so sluggish that we could scarcely perceive that 
we were travehng. We had plenty of flour, but no 



208 Recollections of a Pioneer 

meat, so every now and then, slow as we were going, we 
had to tie up and get out and kill a deer or an antelope. 
Sometimes this required a good deal of time, as our luck 
in hunting was bad. The current got so slow and the 
prospects of getting into swifter water looked so bad, 
that we rigged up a set of oars out of long Cottonwood 
poles cut on the banks and flattened. With these 
we set the men at work by turns, two to each oar, 
night and day and made much better progress. I think 
if we had waited for the current we should not have 
reached home before June of the next year. When we 
reached Yankton we got additional supplies and finally 
reached Sioux City, where we found an opportunity to 
take the stage to Omaha, and did so. At Omaha we got a 
steamboat to St. Joseph, and reached home late in Oc- 
tober, two months and a half out of Fort Benton. 

I found conditions in Missouri much better than 
when I left. The war was really over. The militia had 
all been discharged and there was now no longer any 
excuse for killing and robbing men. After such a long 
period of lawlessness it required some time, of course, 
to reduce everything to order and to secure a rigid en- 
forcement of the law, but I was surprised and gratified 
at the progress that had been made. I passed a very 
pleasant winter with relatives and friends, and it began 
to look like I would be able to settle down and live in 
peace. There were those in the community who were 
disappointed with the results of the war to themselves 
because they had expected to get possession of the 
land belonging to Confederate soldiers. In fact, our 
negroes told me during the war that certain men had 
said the Gibson boys could never come back to this 
country, and they intended to get their land. Of course, 
my presence at home with every prospect of remain- 
ing naturally displeased those who had designs upon 



The Return to Missouri 209 

my land and that which belonged to my brothers, and 
I could hardly hope to remain unmolested — especially 
as all the public officials were ready to give willing 
ear to every report against me. 

About the first of March, after I had lived publicly 
and peaceably in my home community and in St. Jo- 
seph all winter, a man named Joe Lemons, who was the 
tool of other men whom I knew, swore out a warrant 
charging me with stealing his horse during the war. As 
soon as I heard the warrant was out my blood went up 
to the old war heat, but I said nothing. I made no at- 
tempt to escape or to conceal myself, but went about my 
business. A few days later I had business in St. Joseph 
and went up as usual, determined to have no trouble if 
I could avoid it. I was standing in front of Nave and 
McCord's wholesale grocery house, talking to my 
brother Isaac, when Phelps, a deputy sheriff, came up 
and asked me if my name was Jim Gibson. 1 told him 
my name was John Gibson. He then said, "I guess I 
have got a writ for you." I said, "Have you? Let's hear 
it." He had a heavy shawl or blanket around his shoul- 
ders, such as men wore in those days. His hands were 
both concealed beneath the shawl, and when I asked to 
hear the writ he drew his left hand with the writ in it 
from under his shawl and in so doing moved the shawl 
from over his right hand and I saw that he held a six- 
shooter with that hand. I did not move or make any at- 
tempt to resist him, but stood until he, trembling like a 
leaf, had read the writ. When he had fin- 
ished, I waited for him to say what should be done next, 
but he stood some moments greatly embarrassed, and 
said nothing. Finally I said, "Well, what about it?" His 
courage then came to him sufficiently for him to say: 
"You will have to go to the court house with me." I 
said, "all right," and turned and asked brother Isaac 



210 Recollections of a Pioneer 

to go along with me. We started to the court 
house and just then old Fish, the sheriff, came gallop- 
ing up with his big spurs on his heels and jumped off 
his horse. He blustered up and slapped me on the shoul- 
der and said, "you d — d horse thief give up your 

arms." I put my hand on his breast and shoved him off 
the sidewalk, and in stepping off the curbstone he fell. 
He got up and he and Phelps stood looking at me. 1 
did not say "what about it" any more, but started on to- 
ward the court house. When I had got about ten steps 
away Fish said to Phelps, "Why don't you shoot him?" 
Phelps said he did not want to kill anybody and Fish 
then said, "Give me the gun, I will shoot him." With 
that he snatched the gun from Phelps and pointed it at 
me. I jerked my gun from my side and leveled it at him. 
He lowered his gun instantly and I turned and walked 
on. Fish then began to yell, "Catch him ! Catch him !" 
keeping all the time a good, safe distance behind. He 
followed me to Edmond Street, all the time keeping up 
his yell and by that time he had raised half the town, 
it seemed to me. Everybody, policemen and all, ran out 
to see what was the trouble with old Fish. I passed on 
up Edmond Street and came to a man with a stick of 
wood in his hand. He raised it and told me to stop. I 
told him to drop his stick and not to bother me. He 
obeyed and I walked on. I turned on Fourth Street and 
went into a feed stable, and through it to an alley, and 
then around to the south side of the stable. No one was 
near me and I stopped. I had stood but an instant when 
a brother of Phelps, the deputy sheriff, came running to- 
ward me. I drew my gun and asked him what he 
wanted. He turned and ran. There was a board fence 
about five feet high in front of him. He sprang up on 
it on his breast and turned a somersault over it into 
the alley and struck the ground flat on his back. I had 



The Return to Missouri 211 

to laugh at the frightened fool and that put me in a 
better humor. I went to Fourth Street and went into 
the back door of a barber shop. The front door was 
closed, but there was a great throng standing outside 
and Fish was still yelling. The crowd was quiet and 
orderly. I had been in the shop a few minutes when I 
heard some one say, "Don't go in there, that man will 
shoot you !" Another man said, "If you will go in I will 
go with you?" At that time I did not intend to hurt any- 
one and if Fish had let me alone I would have been at 
the court house, for I knew there was no case against 
me. But just as the conversation I have related took 
place Fish and his man jumped in at the back door. 
Fish with his navy cocked and pointed at my breast. 
He called out in a loud voice, "Now, you d — d horse thief 

give up your arms !" That was too much for me to 

take a second time. The last word was not out of his 
mouth until the muzzle of my six-shooter was against 
his neck and hell was blazing inside of me. I pulled the 
trigger, the cap burst with loud noise but the gun, for 
the first time in my experience with it, failed to go. Fish 
thought he was shot and fell backward out at the door. 
Three policemen entering by the front door came up be- 
hind and grabbed me and took my guns away from me. 
By this time Fish had come to himself and jumped back 
in the back door and shot at me. 1 knocked the muzzle 
of the gun up and the ball went into the ceiling. My 
little finger hit the end of the gun just as it was dis- 
charged and the ball grazed the flesh off down to the 
bone. A policeman caught Fish and pushed him back 
and said, "Nobody but a d — d coward would shoot a 
prisoner." 

Fish and his brave deputies then formed a proces- 
sion and started me off to the court house. Phelps, to 
whom I had really surrendered on the reading of the 



212 Recollections of a Pioneer 

writ, and who I think understood all along that there 
would have been no trouble but for Fish's insulting 
bluster, led me by the arm. Fish walked behind with 
my two navies — one in each hand, and one other deputy 
loaded down with guns rode Fish's horse by my side. 
Another deputy, whose name I will not mention, an old 
school mate of mine, remained far behind, thinking, I 
suppose, that I had not seen him. I had met him on 
Felix Street a half hour before Phelps presented the 
writ to me and as soon as Phelps came up I knew 
where he had received information that I was in town. 
This deputy knew that I would not resist arrest if 
treated with anything like decency, and might have 
had me go with him to the court house upon his re- 
quest even without a writ, but this method did not 
suit the bragging, make-believe methods of the men 
who were vainly trying to convince the community of 
their bravery. 

As the procession moved with the desperate man 
up Fifth Street, attracting the attention of everybody, 
greatly to the satisfaction of the brave fellows who had 
made the capture, I said to Phelps, that he need not 
hold my arm as I would not attempt to run. Fish, who 
heard the remark, said to Phelps, "Turn him loose 
and let him run." I halted and turned to Fish and said, 
"If you will give me one of my navies I will run!" I 
would have done exactly what I said, and Fish knew 
it, I think, for he would not give me the gun. I had no 
idea he would accept my challenge, but I stopped his 
pretense at bravery and showed him to be exactly the 
coward that he was. 

When we reached the office, Fish, who was an old- 
timer at the business, went through my pockets. He 
knew just where to lay his hand to get my money and 
took from my inside vest pocket eighty dollars in 



The Return to Missouri 213 

greenbacks, but before he did this he made my brother 
leave the office so he could not see how much money 
he took from me. After getting my money he turned 
me into the jail and locked me in a cold cell without 
fire or blankets. I lay on the cold rocks and shivered 
all night with my finger bleeding on me. 

Next day was a busy one for Fish. My friends 
came in by the dozen to see me and Fish would not let 
them talk to me through the hole in the wall out of his 
presence, so they kept him standing by most of the day 
to hear what was said. My old friend Curl came in. 
He asked me if I wanted to get out. I told him I thought 
I would get out in a short time. Curl said, "If you want 
out today I will go and get enough men to take you 
out." Fish did not open his mouth, but 1 told Curl I 
thought I had better wait and give bond. Shortly after 
that Judge Parker, who stood in with Fish, fixed my 
bond at twenty thousand dollars, thinking, I suppose, 
that I could not give it and that I would have to lie in 
jail until my trial came off. They were mistaken in 
this. I gave the twenty thousand bond — and could have 
given a hundred thousand as well — and was released. I 
walked down town and presently met Fish. He ran up 
and shook hands with me as though he was greatly 
pleased to see me, and said, "I thought you had gone." 
I said, "No, this is my home and I intend to remain 
here." I never saw Fish after that that he did not go 
out of his way to speak to me and shake hands with 
me. I knew his object was to make fair weather with 
me, but he had nothing to fear. I was over my anger 
and would not have harmed a hair of his head so long 
as he did not provoke me as he had done on the day of 
my arrest. 



214 Recollections of a Pioneer 

After meeting Fish I went on, and on Third Street 
I met two pohcemen. They asked me to go into a sa- 
loon and have a drink. I went in and took a toddy and 
while there one of them slipped a Colt's navy in my 
hand and told me to protect myself. I felt much safer 
with such and old acquaintance with me, for I did not 
know when some of my old war enemies might under- 
take to make trouble for me. 

Two indictments were pending against me — one 
for horse stealing and one for an assault upon Fish 
with intent to kill. I went about my affairs until court 
convened. On the morning the case was called Fish 
and Lemons were both present. 1 went in and sat down 
very close to them and where I could look directly in 
their faces. Neither of them would look at me, but kept 
their eyes upon the floor or wandering about the court 
room. My counsel, Judge Tutt, took a change of venue 
and the cases were sent to Platte City. 

Judge Parker gave me an order upon Fish for my 
money and my guns. Brother William, who had re- 
turned from the west, went with me to get them. We got 
the money and one gun. Fish said the other gun had 
been taken to Easton by one of his deputies and that 
he would get it for us later. In a few days William and 
I went back for the other gun and on our way to the 
court house met Fish, hurrying away to catch a train, so 
he said. When we asked him about the gun he said he 
would not stop to talk to us as he was in a great hurry. 
William told him he would stop, that he came for that 
gun and intended to have it. Fish insisted that he did 
not have time to get it for us. William said, "time or 
no time, we will have that gun and have it now !" So we 
turned him round and marched him to the court house 
and got the navy and told him he might then go to his 
train. 



The Return to Missouri 215 

Court convened in Platte City in May. I felt sure 
that neither Fish nor Lemons would appear 
against me. Fish had said that he had found a man 
that would shoot and that he had taken desperate 
chances in attempting to arrest me. I knew he was 
afraid of his shadow and that Platte County was the 
scene of many of his misdeeds during the war. As for 
Lemons, and the horse stealing charge, I felt equally 
sure there would be no prosecution, but on the day 
court convened I went down prepared for trial. I 
reached Platte City the day before the case was to be 
called. I met the sheriff of that county and told him 
about my case. He asked me who the sheriff of Buch- 
anan County was, and when I told him he said Fish 
would never come to Platte County; that he had done 
too much mischief there during the war, hanging and 
robbing gray-haired men. 

Next morning when court opened I walked inside 
the bar and directly in front of the judge. No one knew 
me. The judge opened his docket and commenced call- 
ing over the cases. In a few moments he called my 
case and no one answered. He called the second time 
and I arose and said, "the defendant is present and 
ready for trial." "Where is he?" asked the judge. "I 
am the man," said I. The judge then asked where my 
counsel was. I told him I had none; that Judge Tutt of 
St. Joseph had promised to look after my cases, but he 
had not yet arrived. The judge then told the sheriff 
to go to the front door and call the prosecuting wit- 
nesses three times. The sheriff did so but no one an- 
swered. The cases were dismissed and I was released 
from my heavy bonds and went out of the court room a 
free man, much to the satisfaction of my good friends. 
Matt Evans, Bennett Reece, Ham Ray, Tom Finch and 
others who had gone along as witnesses. 



216 Recollections of a Pioneer 

The cases were dismissed in May, 1867. I came 
home from Platte City and from that day to this have 
never heard of them. Lemons said his horse was taken 
from the stable at twelve o'clock, broad daylight. The 
truth is that at ten o'clock the night before he claimed 
his horse was taken, and while I was not in the coun- 
try, that same man, with others, led away from 
my place eleven head of horses and mules and no mem- 
ber of my family ever saw them again. I never thought 
of calling them to account for it. It was war times, 
and, after the war was over, I felt too thankful to have 
escaped with my life ever to attempt to hold the con- 
duct of any man during that period against him. 

I went to work at whatever I could find to do to 
make an honest living. All my toil and hardship on the 
plains, by which I had accumulated a comfortable for- 
tune before the war, had been spent in vain, and I had to 
begin anew and under very trying conditions. I asked 
nothing but to be let alone, and it now looked as if this 
wish of my heart might be gratified. 

In a short time my prospects were much improved, 
and on the 25th day of August, 1868, I was married. 
Since that time I have, aside from a few months spent 
in Colorado during the early eighties, farmed and 
dealt in cattle in Missouri and Nebraska. I own the 
farm on which I live, have reared my children to matur- 
ity, and educated them as best I could, and, though 
often lonely when I think of my brothers and compan- 
ions of earlier years, I am, in spite of my eighty-three 
years, enjoying good health and the added blessing of 
manv friends. 



THE END. 



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